


Whistle Down the Wind

by Queen_Lightning



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 18:27:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20710541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queen_Lightning/pseuds/Queen_Lightning





	1. Chapter 1

You were late. Again.

Practice had run over (again), and so you found yourself sprinting down the street (again), your violin case banging against the side of your leg as you dodged around pedestrians, hollering apologies over your shoulder when you ran into anyone.

Luckily, it was only Sunday at lunchtime, so you probably would still get a table even if you were late. Unluckily, if you were late again, Sonny would never let you hear the end of it. Luckily, you were just sprinting with your violin and not, say, your cello or your keyboard. 

Unluckily, you hadn’t seen much of Sonny since he got himself a girlfriend. So you tried to maximize your time with him when you could get it.

You had been friends with Dominick “Call me Sonny, everybody does” Carisi Junior since college. You had gone to school with his younger sister Bella, and she had quickly adopted you and made you a member of her family. How many holiday breaks, how many weeks each summer had you spent in the Carisi household on Staten Island? Too many to count. And while you loved Bella like a sister, it had taken even less time to fall in love with Sonny.

Who, sadly, did not seem to return the sentiment.

You pushed the thought out of your head as you jay-walked and then entered the restaurant. Sonny was already there, and when he saw you walk in, he tapped his watch in an exaggerated manner before standing up to wrap you in one of his patented hugs.

You allowed yourself to melt against him for a briefest nanosecond, breathing in the scent of his cologne and soap, before you pushed yourself away, stashed your violin, and shed your coat. Sonny pulled your chair out for you, and your flashed him your winningest grin as you sat down across from him.

He looked good. He had finally shed that ridiculous mustache that made him look like an extra in a 1970’s porno, and his hair was swept up and gelled to perfection. He was wearing his grey Henley and the jeans that looked perfect on him. He crinkled his eyes at you and grinned back.

“I know I didn’t just see you jay-walking,” he said by way of greeting. 

You rolled your eyes at him and scanned the menu. “Don’t be such a cop.” 

He picked up his own menu. “Over 6,000 people died in pedestrian related accidents last year,” he said, his voice stern. “I’d hate to see you go out that way.”

“I plan on dying tragically while rescuing my family from the wreckage of a destroyed sinking battleship,” you replied, dead-pan.

Sonny snorted by didn’t reply. That’s what the two of you had originally bonded over: movies. Bella didn’t have the attention span for movies – especially indie ones – so there were many summer nights in college that you found yourself on the Carisi rec room couch, curled under Nonna Carisi’s crocheted blanket in the frigid AC, watching some Wes Anderson or David Lynch (or once, very uncomfortably, a Harmony Korine film) with Sonny. The first movie you had watched together had been “the Royal Tenenbaums.”

The two of you ordered lunch and then caught up. He told you about his new stint at Manhattan’s SVU and his classes at Fordham Law. You told him about the multiple gigs you had with your music – your cover band, your work at weddings, your growing portfolio of producing work. He told you about his parents (bored empty nesters), you updated him about yours (bitter divorcees who lived halfway across the country). Then you came to the topic that made your stomach turn with jealousy. Significant others.

“How’s Nicole?” you asked, keeping your voice level and nonchalant. 

Sonny swallowed his bite of food. “She’s good,” he replied. He wiped at his mouth. “We’re good.”

You nodded. “That’s good.” You focused on your plate, pushing the remains of your chicken piccata around. You could feel Sonny watching you, but you didn’t want to look up at him. You had met his girlfriend exactly one time, at a Carisi family dinner. Nicole was the opposite of you: polished in perfect makeup and perfect clothing that fit perfectly. She obviously went to the salon regularly – she didn’t have visible roots (despite Bella snarking to you once that Nicole wasn’t a natural blonde), and her nails were polished to a high shine.

In your meaner moments, you would reflect that she wasn’t very nice – she spent that dinner stealing glances at her phone, and she didn’t talk about anyone but herself. But you tried to be happy for Sonny. If he was happy, you were happy. You could deal with the bittersweet feeling of being invisible.

“So everything’s good then,” Sonny teased, and you looked up to see his bright blue eyes twinkling at you. “What about you? Seeing anyone?”

You gave half of a shrug. “Nah.” You pushed your plate aside and flagged down the waitress for the bill, which Sonny snagged from you before you could get it. He put down some cash and replied.

“You shouldn’t be so picky,” he said. “I’m sure you could find someone if you didn’t have such high standards.” You winced at this unintentional barb but tried to cover it up with a smile. Of course you were picky – of all the people in New York City, there was only one Sonny Carisi. And he was unavailable.

“You’re right.” You stood up, put your coat on, grabbed your violin, and waited for him to follow. “The next time a guy with a rapey vibe hits on me after one of my gigs, I’ll just be less picky. Thanks for the official advice from Sex Crimes.”

Sonny snorted as the two of you walked out of the restaurant, but he looked serious as he turned to hug you goodbye. “Be careful out there, Y/F/N.”

You hugged him back awkwardly, shielding part of your body with your violin. Between both of your busy lives, you never got to see your friend anymore. Lately, you only had time for these quick lunches before each of you went back to your separate lives. 

When you had graduated from college, you had moved to Manhattan to start your musical career, and Bella had stayed behind in your college town to wait for her boyfriend Tommy to finish his stint in prison. Sonny was a new detective, and the two of you spent a lot of time together, watching movies and cooking for each other when the other was busy. 

But as many times as you fell asleep on his couch, it never progressed beyond friendship, and your time together waxed and waned depending on if Sonny was seeing anyone. And lately, any free time that Sonny had was spent with Nicole. He had cancelled and rescheduled this lunch three times before it actually happened.

So you only hugged him back halfheartedly. Because you could feel him pulling away from your life more and more, and when you were nestled in his arms, even in a friendly hug, it reminded you of what you didn’t have. Of what you’d never have. 

You pulled away after a moment, then smiled up at him. It made your heart ache to feel that you were losing him, but you could always channel that pain into your music. Maybe sell it as scoring to some sad romance movie where the woman dies at the end and the man walks away into the rain when the end credits start.

“See you around soon, stretch,” you said, trying to keep your voice light. “And thanks for lunch.”

“Sure thing, kiddo,” he replied. He chucked you on your shoulder, then turned and walked away. You watched him for a moment, enjoying the sight of those jeans that really did fit him perfectly. Once he rounded the corner and was out of sight, you checked the street both ways and jay-walked towards your own apartment. 

Because you weren’t joking about using your heartache for your music. The sharp sting of your unreciprocated infatuation would make for a great string piece, and you already were composing the main theme in your head.


	2. Chapter 2

Sonny’s first month at SVU came and went. It was rocky at first, and he was only willing to take some of the blame for it. Sure, he could be brash sometimes. He put his foot in his mouth more often than he wished – it was a family trait. But the people of SVU were a tightly knit family, and he struggled to find an in-road with them at first. They weren’t very friendly to outsiders. Fresh zeppole didn’t work. The best pizza in Manhattan didn’t work either.

He couldn’t talk to his parents about it. Neither his father nor his mother agreed with his career choice, and if he complained to them, they’d just try to convince him to quit and move back to Staten Island to work at his uncle’s towing company. 

He couldn’t talk to his sisters about it. He wasn’t that close with his two older ones, Gina and Theresa. And Bella had her own stuff going on. She and Tommy had gotten a place in Chelsea and were trying to figure out their life together.

He tried to talk to his girlfriend Nicole about it. He usually staggered to her place, dead tired after work, looking for comfort.

When he first started his tour through the SVU departments of the five boroughs, he tried to talk to her about the cases he was handling: the rapes, the assaults, and abuse against children. She wrinkled her nose at him and complained that it was too unpleasant to hear, and he understood that. He tried to talk to her about the problem of fitting at Manhattan’s SVU, but she just shrugged.

“You can quit when you pass the bar,” she replied, scrolling through her phone. “Then you can make a real salary too.”

So he texted you.

He wished his life wasn’t so hectic; he wished he could see you more often. You were a great listener, and you gave the best advice for someone so young. You had helped him with his decision to enroll in law school – in fact, you had been his biggest fan and supporter. Early on, you had even helped him study, sitting cross-legged on his couch and drilling him with questions before midterms or finals. But he had met Nicole shortly thereafter, and she had pointed out that it was weird for a single guy to be such close friends with a single girl. So he had drawn away a bit, and his life took over.

But he still texted you.

_Struggling at new precinct_, he typed. _Co-workers don’t like me. What should I do?_

_Quit your job_, came the response. _My cover band needs some eye-candy to dance on stage while we play. We can pay you in exposure._

Sonny grinned and watched his phone as you wrote out something more serious.

_Just be patient, stretch. You’re smart and great at your job. They’ll come around. No one can resist that Carisi charm, even the jaded film noir detectives in Sex Crimes. I’ll send you a playlist to help pump you up._

_This is why you’re the best_, he typed. _Thanks for the pep talk. Lunch next weekend?_

He watched as the dots indicating that you were responding appeared on his screen, then disappeared, then appeared again. But all that came through was the word,_absolutely_.

He replied with a date and time that you confirmed, then signed off by thanking you again. You signed off with the poop emoji, an inside joke between the two of you because you’d spent your first year with a smart phone thinking it was a chocolate ice cream emoji. That was something else that Sonny liked about you – you had a great sense of humor, and you were always able to laugh at yourself.

The smile on his face faded. He deleted the string of messages between the two of you, then went to join Nicole in bed. He felt a tiny pang of guilt to have been texting you while his girlfriend waited for him, but you were just a friend. He thought that if he could just get Nicole to spend some time with you, she’d see that you were a great person and not a threat at all.

After all, how many friends took the time to create amazing, personalized playlists that perfectly captured the moment? Over the years, you must have sent him a hundred different playlists: one for his graduation from the academy, one for law school studying, one for his workouts. One for when his dad had a heart attack, one for when his nonno died.

He only deleted the messages because Nicole had gone through his phone once. Not that there was anything to hide from her. But he didn’t want the hassle of another fight.

* * *

You waited at the restaurant for Sonny for half an hour before you just went ahead and ordered. While you waited for your food, you texted him. A reply came halfway through your sandwich – an apology. He had deleted the original message, he said, and completely forgot.

You felt a pang but played it off. Of course you were forgettable. 

He apologized three more times before promising to make it up to you. You told him about a performance you had in the coming week. You were a guest performer with the Gramercy Chamber Orchestra and would be performing the cello for Schubert’s Arpeggione Sonata, one of the harder pieces for your preferred instrument. You were nervous – and you rarely got nervous during performances.

_Can I bring Nic? _He texted. _I’d love for the two of you to get to know each other better._

Your mind immediately started to go to the meanest place (assuming that someone like Nicole wouldn’t be able to tell Schubert from Shostakovich), but you pushed those thoughts down. It was completely unfair to stereotype, and you felt like a terrible feminist. Just because she was gorgeous and well put-together didn’t mean she wasn’t nice or smart. Or a music lover. 

You knew that part of your judgement came from your childhood. Your mother had been a winner on the midwest beauty pageant circuit, and she had tried to transition to the role of stage mother once she married and had you. That’s how your musical talents had been discovered so early, and that’s what won you more titles than you really deserved, but once you were old enough to rebel, you did. It could have been fun – you saw plenty of fellow contestants with their mothers or aunts, laughing and genuinely enjoying the experience. Not you though. Your mother was too focused on winning for either of you to have any fun. Even when you won, she still picked apart your performance until you felt tiny.

You kept up with the music lessons. You abandoned the lessons in how to walk and smile around fake teeth. Your mother, in return, criticized you at every turn. Your poor posture. Your lack of care about hair or makeup. Even when you found your own sort of aesthetic – eyeliner on regular days, a signature red lipstick for events – it wasn’t the right kind of makeup. She even criticized the way you walked. A lifetime of internalized judgement about beauty was sure to make you skeptical about Sonny’s girlfriend. 

The jealousy over the fact that she_was _Sonny’s girlfriend probably didn’t help.

You needed to be nicer, you chided yourself. Maybe Nicole was a perfectly lovely person and you weren’t giving her a chance. Maybe instead of being jealous and giving in to your baser instincts, you could be kinder and expect something nice to come of it, like a new friendship.

_Sure_, you typed back. _Bella and Tommy will be there too. I’ll get two more tickets_.

You explained to him how nervous you were and what a huge honor it was to play this piece, especially with a group of professional musicians who were world renowned.

_It’ll be nice to have another friendly face in the audience_, you told him.

Once you got through this performance, then you could focus on befriending Sonny’s girlfriend.

* * *

Sonny had the entire evening planned. First, he’d cook dinner for him and Nicole, then they’d go to your musical thing. Afterwards, drinks to celebrate: him and Nicole, Bella and Tommy, and you. He was determined to make you and Nicole be friends. He wanted you in his life, and he wanted his girlfriend to know that you were a friend – and nothing more.

Dinner was a disaster. He made chicken parmesan and risotto, but Nicole only picked at it. She scraped the breading off of the chicken and refused the risotto altogether.

“It’s nothing but carbs and fat,” she complained. 

“Sorry,” Sonny said, ducking his head. “I can bake you another chicken breast.” He stood up and preheated the oven, popping another piece of chicken into a dish, seasoning it with just a bit of olive oil and salt and pepper.

Once it was cooked, he slid it on her plate and she gave him one of her brilliant white smiles. “Thanks, babe.”

“No problem.” He sat back down and finished his own meal, now cold. “I’m looking forward to going out tonight. I think you’ll really like Y/F/N once you get to know her.”

Nicole rolled her eyes. “I’m not really into classical music,” she said. “Can’t we go to that new bar in Tribeca?”

Sonny gathered up the dishes and started loading the dishwasher. “It’s important to Y/F/N.” He glanced over at his girlfriend and watched her stick out her lower lip in a pout. “Maybe we can head to that bar afterwards,” he added. “All of us can check it out.”

Nicole stood up and came to stand behind him. “Yeah, a double date with a fifth wheel,” she muttered. Sonny felt her snake her arms around his waist, and he leaned back a bit against her. “Or we could just stay in and make it a regular date with just the two of us…” she added, trailing a hand down his front until she was cupping him through his pants.

“Nic,” he said, trying to make his voice stern. He could feel himself responding to her brusque strokes, and he glanced up at the clock on the microwave. “Well, we have a little time before we have to leave,” he finally conceded. 

* * *

You calmed your nerves the same way you always did: you visualized yourself, alone, in deep, cool water. Surrounded by nothing but dark blue water. Just you, floating in the cold and dark. No sound – at first. Then, as you surrendered to the cool and dark, the first notes of the piece you were about to play. 

No one else, nothing else existed. Just you and the music. No matter what, it was always you and the music.

When you strode out onto the stage in your sharp women’s tuxedo, your low heels clicking across the boards, you didn’t hear the applause. You didn’t see Bella and Tommy in the second row, or the two empty seats beside them. All you saw was your cello waiting for you and the slight smile on the conductor’s face. This was the last piece of the evening. The main event.

You took your seat, taking your cello and bow in your hands. You felt like a witch sometimes with the instrument as your familiar. A wholly living thing that you could work with your will. And, in turn, it enchanted you.

Once you were settled, you gave the conductor the faintest of nods. Then you began.

The musicians behind you were amazing. The allegro flew by, and you almost fumbled on the adagio but didn’t. By the time the allegretto began, you and the cello were essentially one creature. It was a sort of magic you could never put into words.

When the final notes faded and the conductor dropped his arms, you were startled back to reality by the thunderous applause. You blinked against the lights and then blinked again as the conductor laughed at you and gestured for you to stand. When you did, the audience stood up. Then you were blinking away tears too and grinning so wide that your mouth hurt.

You found Bella in the audience and gave her your patented half-shrug, as if to ask, “not too bad?” Tommy, looking uncomfortable in a button-down shirt and blazer, shot you two thumbs up.

It wasn’t until your gaze drifted to the two empty seats beside them that your smile fell.

When you went backstage to gather up your stuff (and receive congratulations from the professional musicians, which made you almost giddy from praise), you checked your phone. No missed texts or calls from Sonny. He probably got called in to work. It happened more often now that he was with SVU, and you’d never hold that against him. His job was stressful enough without you piling on.

You met Bella and Tommy in the lobby, and you went out for a drink. They couldn’t stay long – Tommy had curfew for his parole – but a couple of drinks were fine.

“You were so good!” Bella said, pulling you into a hug. “I’ve never heard that much applause at any of your events before.”

Tommy nodded over his soda. “I didn’t know the music, but it sure sounded great,” he agreed.

You sipped your own beer. “I can’t thank you enough for coming,” you told them both. You felt the usual tears of your post-performance high start to prickle behind your eyelids. “I was so nervous.”

“I’m just sorry Sonny missed it,” Bella sighed. You nodded and took another swallow of beer.

“Yeah, well…” you trailed off for a moment before continuing. “Since he went to the Sex Crimes precinct, he’s been getting called in all the time.”

Tommy snorted. “Sure,” he started, but Bella slapped his arm, and he focused on the tabletop. You looked back and forth between them.

“What?” you asked. Bella sighed and Tommy looked up at you, sheepish.

“He sent Bella a text while you were backstage after the performance,” he replied, his face turning red. “Let’s just say that he was committing sex crimes instead of investigating them.”

“What?” you asked again, confused. 

Bella sighed, louder. “He and Nicole decided to stay in for a, uh…romantic night in. Or so he told me in not so many words.”

“Oh.” The buzzy feelings from your success dissipated in an instant, replaced by a burning jealousy. And, along with it, anger.

“He said he was going to try and stop by once we settled in at a bar,” Bella added gently, trying to soften the blow. “I texted him when we got here, and he’ll be on his way soon.”

You shook your head and finished the rest of your beer. “Text him back and tell him not to come. I’m celebrating tonight.” You flagged a waitress down and ordered three shots, which were promptly delivered to the table.

“Y/F/N, I can’t drink…” Tommy started, and Bella cut him off.

“We need to get home before his curfew…” she said, but you talked over her too.

“These are for me,” you said. You threw all three shots back, one after the other. “I’m celebrating tonight.” You ignored the look that passed between Bella and her boyfriend. You ordered more shots, then scanned the bar. When the shots came, you downed those too.

“I’ll catch up with you later, Bella,” you said. You pulled first her, then Tommy in for hugs, then waved them off. They gave each other that look again, but you ignored that too. You shooed them away until they left, reluctantly, and only after you promised to text Bella when you were home safely.

_You shouldn’t be so picky_, Sonny had told you once.

_Too right, stretch_, you replied in your head. You made eye contact with a guy at the bar who gave you a brief smile and a nod. You made your way over to him and let him buy you a drink. And then another. And another. Because you were celebrating tonight.


	3. Chapter 3

Sonny hadn’t meant to miss your performance. He had thought he could make it in time, but Nicole kept pulling him back into the bed every time he tried to get up. Before he knew it, he had missed it. He had a panicky back-and-forth texting exchange with his sister, promising to meet everyone for drinks. But she had eventually told him not to bother.

_She’s pretty upset_, Bella’s final text said. 

He felt terrible. He had every intention of the evening ending with you and Nicole as friends, and instead he had only hurt you. Before he finally fell asleep, he promised himself that he’d think of some way to make it up to you. Maybe a movie marathon night. Maybe tickets to a show. You loved music – all music – so an evening together at a concert would be a safe bet. At least you were easy-going. You’d forgiven him for missing less.

He woke up at 4:30 in the morning to Nicole shaking him. “Your phone is blowing up,” she muttered, the irritation seeping through his sleepy fog. She unplugged it and handed it to him after glancing at the screen. “It’s your sister.”

“Bella?” he said, his voice thick with sleep as he answered the phone. “What’s wrong?”

Her shrill voice cut through his sleepiness, and he had to hold the phone away from his ear. It took a couple of tries before he got the whole story. Bella and Tommy had left you alone at a bar. You were supposed to text her when you got home. Bella had woken up half an hour earlier and hadn’t seen any messages from you. She had been trying your cell ever since, stopping only long enough to call Sonny.

“Okay, okay,” he finally replied. He slid out of bed and started pulling on clothes. “She only lives five blocks away. I’ll go check on her.” He hung up and sat on the edge of the bed, then put on his socks and shoes. Then he turned and faced Nicole.

“I’ll be back soon,” he promised, but his girlfriend only scoffed at him. 

“Funny that you go running for someone who’s just a friend,” she said. Sonny peered at her closer in the dim room. She looked mad, and she was probably justified to feel that way. 

“Bella’s upset,” he said, shifting the focus. He wasn’t checking up on you. He was giving his little sister peace of mind.

“I’m upset,” Nicole retorted. Sonny turned on the bed to face her, then leaned in to kiss her. She moved away from him though, and his lips only brushed her cheekbone as she stood up and stalked her way to the bathroom. He watched her naked form for a moment, then growled in frustration. He’d have to make it up to her now, too.

* * *

If you had to list out your regrets, it would start with all the drinks you had at the bar. Then it would continue to going home with a random guy. Then it would end with letting your phone’s battery die completely. 

Or maybe your list of regrets should start with wasting so much time on pining over Sonny Carisi. Because going home with a random guy didn’t turn out terribly. Of the bits you could remember, it had been fun. Mutually consenting. You vaguely recalled straddling the guy until you got too wobbly from the alcohol. Then you remembered him helping to hold you up, drunkenly laughing underneath you until you both came.

The regret only came in the harsh light of the morning. The random guy’s bedroom was covered in posters of souped-up racecars, like a middle school boy’s. And then he had offered you a protein shake for breakfast, the gritty whey making your already queasy stomach worse. And then he sat in his living room, doing bicep curls in front of you until you did an awkward soft-shoe out the door.

You made your way home and plugged in your phone to charge. You showered, letting the hot water wash away the night before. When you climbed out and toweled off, you checked your phone. There were about a million messages, most from Bella.

They were increasingly panicked. Then there were message from Sonny – first, the ones just asking if you were okay. Then, the terse ones demanding that you call him immediately. Apparently he’d been by your place, camping out and waiting for you until he gave up and went home.

You rolled your eyes and deleted those. You called Bella instead. 

You swore your best friend picked up before the first ring. “Hey,” you said, trying to sound apologetic. You winced and just listened to her berate you, nodding along even though she couldn’t see you. Yes, you should have texted her. Yes, it was incredibly stupid to go home with a stranger while drunk. You admitted as much when she let you get a word in edgewise.

“You need to let Sonny know,” Bella finally told you. “He’s about ready to dispatch all of NYPD to find you.”

You should feel happy that he cared, but instead you felt a swell of irrational anger at this. “I don’t need found now, Bella,” you replied through gritted teeth. “And you can call your brother yourself.”

* * *

Sonny sent a few texts to you over the next few weeks, and he saw that you read them, but you never responded. He would have gone and visited you, but he had to make amends with Nicole too for his sudden disappearance the night Bella had panicked and called him. He switched shifts with Fin and took a long weekend with her to a cabin in upstate New York. He had thought it would be a romantic, cozy getaway, but she had mostly complained about the lack of reliable cell service and the musty smell in the cabin. 

When he got back to SVU that Monday, he already felt exhausted from the weekend. And there was a new case that hit closer to home than usual: a dentist was accused of sexually assaulting numerous patients – including his young niece. Sonny had nieces and the thought of ever hurting them made him feel sick to his core.

He needed someone to talk to the night after they arrested the dentist, but Nicole was out with friends, so he just went to his own apartment, alone. Any other day, he’d call you. Or go to your place for pizza and sympathy. Any other day, you’d listen to him rant and then offer either support or advice. Any other day, you’d send him a playlist, some perfect, alchemic blend of classic rock and instrumental and alternative and EDM and obscure horn pipe compositions that would bolster his mood perfectly.

Instead, you were freezing him out. He felt a wave of irritation at you. He’d missed plenty of your events – you had so many gigs, no one could keep up. And you knew better than anyone that his job was difficult. The least you could do was offer a little forgiveness. You were usually so easy-going, but suddenly now you weren’t. And according to Bella, you had been hooking up with random guys. The seed of irritation with you had taken root when Bella had informed him of that little fun fact. 

He wasn’t sure what was wrong, but between work and Nicole, he didn’t have the energy to bother and figure it out. Either you’d come around or you wouldn’t. 

* * *

You were busy. Your performance with the chamber orchestra had made you a wanted woman, and for the first time in your life, you had to turn down offers. The new exposure drove more traffic to your website, which drove more people to listen to your scoring work, which led to an offer to score a small, indie film that was set to start filming in a few months. You had a script that you were working through, coming up with musical themes and ideas to pitch to the director and producers. 

You still had you regular shows with your cover band, and you still did freelance work as a producer for a handful of artists who liked to layer in samples of classical pieces.

And in the evenings – when you had a free one – you had your hunting.

You called it hunting because it made you feel like a vampire slayer, but mostly because you couldn’t call it “looking for hook-ups.” You’d gotten lucky the night of your big performance – you’d been incredibly reckless, but aside from a gross protein shake, you’d come away from it unscathed. So now you had rules.

One drink, maximum, and never one that was unattended or handed to you by a guy. You always insisted that the guy show you his driver’s license, which you took a picture of and texted to Bella or one of your other friends as evidence. Most of the guys were bemused by your measures, but a few got angry. You knew to stay away from those guys.

Other rules? Never give your last name or phone number, always use protection, and never stay the night. You got yours, then you got out. 

One night, a few weeks after your cello performance, you had hooked up with a brutally hot bartender. You had gotten yours and gotten out, per your rules. You walked home, your coat wrapped around you. You could have called a cab but you wanted to walk. It wasn’t far, and the night air would clear your head. 

You always enjoyed yourself on your nights out hunting, but there was always a pang of regret afterwards. Probably some remnant of patriarchal conditioning, you tried to reason, making you feel guilty for feeling pleasure. But more likely, you felt regret because the guys above you or underneath you or behind you weren’t the one you really wanted.

You shook your head and crossed the middle of the street, ignoring a whistle behind you. Guys in New York could be creeps.

The whistler whistled again, and then a third time – this time closer to you. You reached into your coat pocket for your bear spray as you turned around, ready to fight.

“Listen, creep,” you started, but you stopped when you saw who it was. Sonny. You mentally kicked yourself. You were only one street over from his. You’d have to make a new rule: avoid the dude you wanted to be with when you were out being with other dudes. Or some variation thereof.

“Hey,” he said. He was in his camel overcoat and a rumpled suit, obviously just getting off of work. It was late. He must have had a long day. In one hand, he held a bag from the local chicken joint around the corner.

“Hey,” you replied. “Late night?”

He nodded, then looked you over. “You too.” It wasn’t a question. 

“I’m headed home now,” you said. “I have an early start tomorrow.”

He nodded again. He peered at you with his eyes that looked tired but were no less blue than any other time. You felt the familiar flush of love that you always felt when you looked at him, but you tried to push it down.

“I’m sorry about missing your performance,” he finally said. His Staten Island accent got thicker when he was tired, and it was showing now. “Performance” came out “perfawmance.” 

You shrugged. “No big deal. You were busy.”

“I tried to make it,” he continued. “Something came up.”

You gave a bitter laugh. “Yeah, I heard.” You turned to leave, but you felt him reach out and take a hold of your arm.

“Why are you so upset?” he said. You turned and looked at him, and he was scowling. Was _he _mad at _you_? You felt anger bubbling up in you.

“Maybe it gets old, always jumping when you need someone. A study buddy, or someone to cheer your up or tell you that you’re the best. And then that person never comes through for you. Or hasn’t for a long time.”

Sonny dropped his hand from your arm. “Nicole…”

You laughed again, a dry bark dripping with rancor but didn’t say anything.

“She’s my girlfriend, Y/F/N,” he continued, spreading his arms out in a helpless gesture, the bag of greasy take-out rustling. “She wanted to stay in.”

There it was. There was the core of your anger, and it turned white-hot like a nuclear reactor. You’d drop everything for Sonny, but he’d drop everything for her. And then he’d have the audacity to look at you with that wounded look he was giving you now.

He sighed. “If you had someone…” he started, but didn’t finish. He looked you over again, from your feet to the top of your head.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Maybe I do have someone,” you said, your voice low. “Maybe I took your advice and decided to stop being so picky.”

Now it was his turn to laugh. “Someone? Or several someones?” he asked. “Are you going through some delayed slutty phase because you didn’t get a chance to in college?”

Before you could even stop yourself, your hand shot out, quick as a viper and slapped him across the face. A part of you, deep down, felt horrified at the look that crossed his face as his blue eyes widened. But that part of you was small and quiet, and the white-hot angry part of you was in charge.

“Fuck you, Sonny,” you said, your voice going up half an octave and doing that shaky thing that it did before you started to angry-cry. “I didn’t have any sort of phase in college because I was too busy mooning over you. And I spent the years after that doing the same fucking thing. Year after year, just waiting around for you to notice me.” You ignored the emotions that crossed his face because you couldn’t read them anyway. You used to think you knew him better than anyone but did you, really?

“I didn’t…” he started, but you shook your index finger at him and didn’t let him continue.

“I’m done waiting around for you,” you said, the tears forming and then spilling down your eyelashes. “You have a girlfriend? Great. Go to her when you need a fucking pep-talk. I’ll keep taking your advice, keep my standards nice and low.” You half-turned from him, then added, “and if I need someone to stand me up for my performances, I’ll just call my mom, okay?” 

Then you turned away from him completely and left him standing on the sidewalk as you walked home in tears.


	4. Chapter 4

If pressed, Sonny would have said that you were one of his best friends, but maybe he didn’t know you very well after all

You certainly didn’t look like yourself the night of your argument in the street. Sonny almost only ever saw you in jeans and t-shirts or sweaters, unless you had a performance and were dressed up. 

Maybe this new you was a performance too, he reasoned. You had been in a skirt and heels, your hair had been tousled, and your lips had been pink and kiss-swollen. You looked like you had just rolled out of bed with some guy. And according to Bella, that’s probably exactly what had happened.

If he were honest with himself, it was jealousy that made him lash out with the unfair comment about your behavior. But he hadn’t time to really think through it, because you had slapped him and then – unbelievably – claimed to have been in love with him. And before he could think through _that _admission, you had left in tears.

Sometimes you teared up at movies, but otherwise, he had never seen you cry before. He had never seen you so hurt: not when your parents skipped your first big performance in college, not when they fought the entire weekend of your graduation, not when you got stood up by dates or disappointed by friends. Not ever. Until that night.

He watched you walk away until you were out of sight, and then he dragged himself to his apartment. Nicole had basically moved in, but she wasn’t home. She had left a note on the little whiteboard on the refrigerator (“Out with friends, don’t wait up, XOXO”). 

Sonny didn’t even bother turning on the lights. He just slumped in his chair at the kitchen table and ate his takeout that had long grown cold.

* * *

You hung out with Bella but didn’t give her any details about your personal life that might find their way back to Sonny. Not that you really cared at this point. His crack about you going through a slutty phase was rich. In the period between his last girlfriend and his current one, he was the one who wore the same suit several days in a row because he was out having one night stands. Of course, you hadn’t shamed him for it. You just waited for him to come around for pizza and a willing ear to listen to his rant about never being able to find the right woman.

You were ashamed that you slapped him, though. You grew up in a house where arguments frequently devolved into slaps and shoves. You had never raised your hand to anyone before that night with Sonny. When you thought about the look of shock on Sonny’s face, you felt sick with shame. 

You had always been so careful about your temper. As soon as you moved out and went to college, you made a conscious choice to be calm and carefree. You always bit back any bad feelings: disappointment and hurt and anger and irritation. You kept it buried and let it out in your music.

You didn’t want to turn into your parents, but maybe you were no better than them. The thought made you feel bleaker than you ever had before.

Maybe it wasn’t all bleak though. Bella had you over for dinner one evening, and she and Tommy told you that they were engaged. Bella was pregnant. You had shrieked in joy for your friend. She was loud and brash and a royal pain, and she was going to be the best mother ever. 

But that bleak feeling returned less than a week after your dinner, when Bella told you that Tommy had been arrested again. You heard the pain in her voice and then listened helplessly while she broke down over the phone. Maybe people never changed.

* * *

Sonny was in limbo. SVU was investigating the rape case of his future brother-in-law, but he couldn’t help. All he could do was support Bella and take other cases in the meantime.

He closed out a couple of cases on his own: a date rape, a Central Park serial groper. He split his time in the evenings between Bella’s and his apartment. Nicole had officially moved in, and they were still figuring out how to fit her stuff in and which furniture to keep.

It was nice to have her there all the time. She was an executive assistant in a marketing firm, and she went out a lot with her friends after work, so Sonny didn’t get to see her much when they lived separately. He had asked her several times to move in with him, but she always put him off. It wasn’t until the morning after your missed performance that she finally agreed.

If it wasn’t exactly how he pictured it, it was only because he hadn’t been realistic when he imagined his life. He had always pictured coming home in the evening to a warm sanctuary like his parents had created in his childhood. He had pictured standing at the kitchen counter with a woman – his future wife and mother of his children – by his side, making dinner together. Pictured him curled under a blanket on the couch, watching a movie together. Pictured having someone to comfort him after a hard day at work, and comforting them in return.

Reality was a bit less warm and homey. Nicole was obviously still settling in. He felt a low-grade tension in the apartment: she snapped when she couldn’t find the clothing she wanted in the boxes that still needed unpacked, and she complained about all the food he cooked. She was on a no-carb diet.

It would get better. He just had to be patient. And maybe swap out his homemade pasta for zucchini noodles, even if the mere thought of it probably shamed his ancestors.

He saved his pasta-making skills for his evenings with his little sister. The trial of Tommy’s parole officer was starting, and Bella was struggling. He was at her apartment in Chelsea one night, rolling out gnocchi while the water started to boil. Bella was sitting at the kitchen table, listless. Sonny tried to talk to her about how brave Tommy was, but she cut him off.

“I don’t want to hear it, Sonny,” she said, exasperated. “Talk about something else.”

He thought about it for a moment. “Nicole is moved in now. She’s almost unpacked.” He looked over at Bella just in time to catch her rolling her eyes. “What?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“No, what? Say what you’re thinking.”

Bella sighed. “She moved in with you. What’s next? You gonna ask her to marry you?”

Sonny rolled out another rope of gnocchi dough, then cut it into bite-sized pieces. “Hopefully, yes.”

“You see yourself married to her, having kids with her?”

“That’s the plan,” he replied, not looking at her.

Bella sighed again. “Then why are you so miserable?” she asked. Sonny picked up the cutting board and pushed the gnocchi into the boiling water. 

“Work has been tense…” he started, but Bella cut in.

“Funny. You didn’t try to convince me that you aren’t miserable,” she remarked. 

“I don’t want to hear it, Bella,” he said, only half-teasing. Bella knew him better than almost anyone, and he couldn’t fool her. “Talk about something else.”

Bella stood up and joined him in the tiny kitchen, watching as he shaved fresh parmesan to top the gnocchi. “Have you seen Y/F/N lately?”

He shook his head in response, focused on the cheese block in front of him.

“Talked to her lately?”

“Nope.”

Bella elbowed him in his side, narrowly missing his ticklish spot between his ribs. “Any plans to talk to her?” He shot her a look. She tried to elbow him again, but he side-stepped her. “She’s one of your closest friends, Sonny.”

“She used to be,” he replied. “I’m not so sure anymore.” Bella opened her mouth to speak, but Sonny didn’t let her. The last thing he needed was a lecture from his little sister.

“Anyway, if she’s such a great friend, where’s she been for you, huh?” he asked. He pulled the pot of gnocchi off of the burner and drained them, rinsing them in cold water and returning them to the pot to toss them with the alfredo sauce he made. “You’re pregnant, you’re fiancée could go back to prison, and where’s your friend? I haven’t seen her at all.”

Bella scoffed at him, her mouth agape. “You serious, Sonny? Who do you think is here when you’re not? Who do you think bought all these groceries?” She smacked him with the back of her hand. “What’s wrong with you?

“I didn’t…”

“Yeah, you didn’t know. Well, know this – Y/F/N cleaned the apartment, keeps the fridge filled for me. She bought me prenatal vitamins, for god’s sake. I’m either at the courthouse or too depressed to get out of bed, and Y/F/N is over here, cheering me up.” She glared at Sonny. “And she is helping me with the wedding planning. She’s convinced that me and Tommy’ll work out, and she pulled a ton of stuff about venues in Montauk.”

Sonny hung his head, ashamed. Of course you did all those sorts of things for Bella. Because you did all those sorts of things for him when he needed it.

He could feel his sister watching him, but he didn’t make eye contact with her. After a moment, he spoke, his voice low.

“Did you know that she….uh, had a thing for me?”

Bella laughed, but it sounded sad. “Oh, Sonny. She’s been in love with you since she met you. Everyone knows. Now you know too.”


	5. Chapter 5

You tried not to gloat when Tommy’s parole officer was found guilty, and Tommy and Bella found their way back together. You knew they’d end up okay, mainly because no other option was acceptable. You might be alone. There was no way Bella would be.

Bella asked you to be a bridesmaid, and you agreed with pleasure, but you insisted that you handle the music for her. They were on a shoestring budget, especially with a baby on the way, and you did not want one of your best friends to end up with an iPhone playing tinny prerecorded music for her wedding and reception.

You gathered up some musical friends – two women from your cover band, and an older man that you had done some freelance work with – and formed a string quartet for her wedding. You borrowed equipment from another friend and laid out playlists for the reception: certain songs for the bridal entrance, Big Band music for dinner, and then dance songs for after dinner. You had a separate list for the rehearsal dinner too.

The only issue was Sonny. You hadn’t seen him since the night you had slapped him, a few months ago, and he never tried to reach out afterwards. He was probably done with you, so you had to be done with him too. It was easier when you didn’t have to see him, but now you had to spend two whole days near him in Montauk. 

And not just him – him and Nicole. That was still happening; according to Bella, they were living together, and Sonny was looking to a future engagement to her. The thought made your chest ache. If you could, you’d never see him again. But you couldn’t let Bella down. You could handle it, for her sake. You had to.

* * *

Sonny was in his bedroom, packing for Bella’s wedding weekend. Nicole was packing too, and she was actually in a good mood, humming as she flitted from the bathroom to her suitcase, filling it with shampoo and makeup and a multitude of hair implements. 

Now that Tommy’s case was behind him, Sonny felt better. His little sister was settling into marriage and a kid, and he desperately wanted the same for himself. He watched Nicole for a bit, and he thought about what it might be like to marry her. 

Nicole had a lot of good things going for her. She was gorgeous, and Sonny knew he was lucky to have such a beautiful girlfriend. She came from a big Italian Catholic family just like his too, and while they never talked about it, he hoped she wanted at least a couple of kids.

If she spent a lot of time out late with friends, then it was only because Sonny had a job that kept him away too. If she lost her temper with him, it was only because Sonny did something that had angered her. If she wasn’t very comforting when he had a tough case, it was only because she expected him to be stronger and not bother her with his difficult job.

Sometimes he wished he could talk to you about it. You always had such good advice, and you saw the world in a pretty straight-forward sort of way. But you hadn’t reached out to him after that night in the street, and he didn’t know how to respond to Bella’s claim that you had been in love with him. Nothing in your behavior in all the years he had known you indicated that you felt that way – you teased him and supported him, sure, but you had never made a move. You had never said a single word that you loved him. 

You were an honorary Carisi already – you usually joined his family for holidays since both of your parents had remarried and moved on with their lives. When his parents or sisters teased you and called you “Y/F/N Carisi,” you would always blush and glance at him. Had that been your tell? 

Sonny would have gone back and replayed every moment he had with you to see if you had left any other clues, or if you were just claiming to be in love with him because you were jealous of what he and Nicole had together. Instead, he put it out of his mind and watched his girlfriend pack for the long weekend in Montauk.

* * *

You got to the beach club in Montauk early with the rest of your string quartet. You were all staying at the adjacent hotel with the rest of the wedding party, and you had all of your equipment to unload and set up. 

You were in the reception hall area, testing the speaker setup when Bella and her family drifted in. Bella came over and hugged you, and you kept your eyes carefully focused on her and Tommy. But you could see Sonny and his girlfriend out of your peripherals. 

You and Bella exchanged pleasantries – you asked how she was feeling, she thanked you for the millionth time for handling the music. 

“It’s not a problem at all,” you replied with a laugh. “What’s the point of having a friend who’s a musical prodigy if not to take advantage of it?” She laughed too and slapped you with the back of her hand, and you watched as the rest of the Carisi family tumbled in through the door.

You smiled and took a step towards Bella’s parents, but you were cut off by a shriek and a blur that bolted into the room and grabbed you around your middle in a hug, nearly knocking you over.

“Aunt Y/F/N!” the blur yelled, her face muffled against your stomach. You laughed and untangled the little girl’s arms from around you.

“Emma Maria,” you replied, looking down at Bella’s niece sternly, glaring at the little girl. “Who invited you to this?”

She looked up at you and giggled but didn’t answer, so you kept up the ruse. “Bella,” you said, looking over your shoulder. “Call security. We have a tiny, tiny wedding crasher here.” Bella just smiled at you as Emma giggled more. You glared down at her until she stopped laughing, then you knelt down and gave her a gentle hug. She hugged you back, squeezing you around your neck until you were being lightly choked by a seven year old.

Emma pushed away from you. “It took us a million hours to get here,” she told you. “Mom said a bunch of bad words.” 

You glanced over at Sonny’s older sister, Theresa, who did look tired and irritated. Emma’s older sisters, Mia and Sophia looked a little worse for wear too. 

“Where’s your dad?” you asked her, and Emma shook her head.

“He had to work,” she answered you seriously. “He said he’d be damned if he came to Monty in October.”

You snorted at this. “Montauk, sprout. It’s Montauk. And don’t say ‘damned’ in front of your mom.” You smoothed her ruffled hair back from her face and stood up. She slipped her hand into yours, and you gave her sticky palm a gentle squeeze back. You loved all of the Carisi family, but you had a special place in your heart for the Morino girls. You had babysat them with Sonny more times than you could count, and they thought of you as a bonus aunt – the fun one who taught them how to play little drabbles on her instruments and who baked them gooey brownies during movie nights together.

Emma spied her Uncle Sonny then, and she tried to tug you in his direction. You looked up and saw him watching you, so you gave him a faint nod before releasing Emma’s hand. She ran over to him alone, and you went back to testing the speakers.

* * *

Later that afternoon, you were settled in the room where the ceremony would take place. Your fellow musicians were arranged with you, tuning up their instruments. Your fellow bandmates – Alicia and Jen – were both on violin, and Steve was on the viola. You sat with your cello, watching as the wedding party trickled in and was directed by the events planner of the beach club. 

“Do we know what we’re even playing yet?” Steve asked. 

You shook your head. The three of them were all consummate professionals, able to play almost anything, and you knew Bella wouldn’t request anything your quartet couldn’t handle. “All she said was, ‘I want that wedding song,’” you replied with a grin.

Alicia laughed. “That narrows it down.”

“’That wedding song,’” Jen added. “I’ll bet you a million dollars she wants Pachebel’s Canon.”

“One of the best composers of the middle Baroque period, and he’s been boiled down to ‘that wedding song,’” Steve said with a shake of his head.

You ran your bow across the strings of your cello. “Well, we’ll figure it out.”

Bella and the events planned eventually made their way over. You explained that you weren’t sure what music she wanted.

“The one that goes like this,” Bella responded, and then she sang…something. She couldn’t carry a tune to save her life. It could be Pachebel’s Canon…or it could be anything.

You and the rest of the quartet played a few possibilities, teasing Bella with some of them. Alicia, at one point, claimed that Bella wanted Prokofiev’s “Dance of the Knights,” and the four of you played the terse piece for a minute while the wedding party watched, a few chuckling. 

Eventually, though, you figured it out. You were glad you didn’t take Jen’s bet. Steve caught your eye as you adjusted your cello between your legs, and he rolled his eyes at you exaggeratedly.

You ended up running through the ceremony twice, and then Bella was satisfied that it would go well. Then you gathered up your stuff and went to dinner.

It was a buffet, and you made a plate and took a seat with Bella and Tommy, chatting about the next day. Bella, of all people, seemed more nervous, and Tommy was the collected one. You smiled at them, happy that they had each found their person. 

Theresa and her kids joined you at the long table, and then Mr. and Mrs. Carisi. Then Bella’s other sister, Gina, came and sat by you with her boyfriend of the moment. And then Sonny and his girlfriend joined the table. You suddenly became very focused on your chicken parmesan, cutting it into precise pieces slowly and carefully.

The Carisi’s were a rowdy bunch, and you let the chatter wash over you until it was a monotone din. It wasn’t until Bella’s father asked you a question that you came out of your slight trance.

“How’s the music coming?” Dominick Sr. asked, and you looked up, startled. Everyone was looking at you, and your eyes stuttered on Sonny for a moment before looking at his father.

“It’s good,” you replied, clearing your throat. “I’m scoring an indie movie right now.”

“Y/F/N is gonna win an Oscar someday,” Tommy said with a smile. “Then we can say we all know a celebrity.”

Gina rolled her eyes. “You mean a Grammy, dummy.” Bella’s sister never bothered to hide her disdain for Tommy.

“They give Oscars for music, Gina,” Bella jumped in, defending her soon-to-be-husband. Before you knew it, the two sisters were yelling over the table at each other, with Theresa joining it – taking first one side and then another. Dom Sr. suddenly found a reason to go back to the buffet table, and you looked up to see Sonny watching you. You couldn’t read the expression on his face. Then you felt a tug on your sleeve and looked away from him to see Emma.

“It’s loud,” she complained, and she clamored up on your lap awkwardly.

“Obviously. It couldn’t be a Carisi gathering if someone wasn’t yelling.” You helped her settle onto you, then you poked her in her side, making her squeal. “You’re getting big, sprout. Tell me all about school.”

The little girl fiddled with her hands and told you all about school – what she was learning, who her friends were, and all the convoluted drama of who was dating whom. Dating, to a seven year old, meant who had held hands with whom, apparently. 

Her older sisters drifted over to you too. Sophia told you about her school too – she was about ten. Her mom said she could take lessons on a musical instrument, and she wanted to see what you thought about the flute. And then Mia, the eldest at fifteen, asked about the one song you had played during the rehearsal. You told her what it was – “Dance of the Knights” from the ballet “Romeo and Juliet” – and she said, “it was cool,” before burying her head back in the screen of her phone.

You let the girls chatter at you, and you only half-listened. Bella and Tommy went to make their rounds to the other tables, and Gina leaned across the table to talk to Sonny’s girlfriend. You eavesdropped while pretending to listen to the Morino girls.

“This is nicer than I thought it would be,” Nicole said. “But Montauk in October? I want a June wedding.”

Gina laughed at this. “Listen up, little brother,” she teased Sonny. “Better start saving for a ring now.”

You felt your stomach clench and churn. “It better be at least one and a half carats,” Nicole continued. “Platinum band, size seven.” Both she and Gina laughed, and Mia looked up from her phone long enough to roll her eyes at them. You wanted nothing more than to stand up and flee, but Emma was still on your lap, and Sophia was listing out other instruments she might want to try.

“You want to try the cello?” you said suddenly, cutting the girl off. She nodded eagerly, and you shifted Emma from you and stood up. “Let’s go.” The two little girls stood up too, and you made eye contact with their mother. She gave you a nod of assent, waving you off with a tired flap of her hand. Then you glanced at Sonny. He was watching you again, his brows knitted in thought so that those two worry lines were written deep between his eyes. 

Your stomach churned more as you imagined him marrying Nicole. You’d marry him without a ring at all, and she had a laundry list of things she required before she’s marry him. And yet, that’s who he had chosen. You looked away before he could see the tears springing up in your eyes.

“Come on, ladies,” you said, leading Sophia and Emma towards the hallway that connected the club to the hotel. “Let’s go play some happy music.”

* * *

Sonny was irritated all day. The night before, after rehearsal and dinner, Nicole had dragged him out to a nearby bar with Gina and her boyfriend. Sonny wasn’t in the mood to drink, so he watched the other three do shots upon shots until they were laughing and obnoxious. 

Sonny managed to get Nicole back to the hotel, but she switched from being a fun drunk to an angry one. She accused him of cheating on her; she threw out allegations that he had stared at other women all night. Specifically, you.

“I know you want to fuck her,” Nicole slurred at him, and Sonny winced at this. He tried to shush her – he was worried that the walls were thin, and the entire floor was full of his family.

“I see the way you look at her,” she continued, her voice raising to a boiling tea-kettle shriek. “I see the way she looks at you. And you always go running when she needs it.” She continued yelling, accusing him of everything that crossed her mind. Sonny was cheating on her. Sonny didn’t love her. Sonny was purposely trying to make her fat by filling their apartment with carbs.

By the time she finally passed out, it was four in the morning, and Sonny was too angry to fall asleep himself.

She woke up late with a hangover, so they got a late start. Sonny was last to queue up with the groomsmen, and he saw Nicole in the back row, slumped over and holding her head. He refused to look over into the corner where you sat in your bridesmaid dress with the other musicians, but he could hear your cello – low and lovely – as you ended your current piece and waited to begin Bella’s processional music.

Sonny turned to watch his little sister walk down the aisle with his father. Bella looked beautiful, and Sonny felt a sting of tears in his eyes. Theresa and Gina were older than him, so he and Bella had been inseparable as kids. He felt a tiny thread of melancholy – Bella getting married and having her own kid meant that life was marching forward and he could never return to those carefree days of being a child, safe and happy in his parents’ home. But mainly, he was happy for her.

He watched as they exchanged their vows, and he glanced past them to watch you. You were sitting with your cello, your head leaned against the stem of it (if that’s what it was called, he didn’t know for sure). Every so often, you reached up with a stealthy hand to wipe away at the tears that slid out from the corners of your eyes.

Then the officiant announced Bella and Tommy as husband and wife, and you raised your bow and struck up a joyful tune, smiling as the newlyweds walked back down the aisle together.

Sonny gathered up Nicole, still nursing her hangover, and together they made their way into the reception area. You were already there, fussing with the music equipment set up in the corner. After a moment, the music started to play – a list of old school music, like Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin and Dinah Shore. You stayed there for a bit, waiting with a microphone for the speeches that would come. 

Bella and Tommy came into the reception to applause and hooting, and Sonny felt the tears rise up in his eyes again. His sister looked radiantly happy, and so did Tommy. They settled in at their own, private table near the front of the room – a sweethearts’ table, Bella had informed him during the planning process a month ago.

There were rounds of toasts and speeches, and more applause, and people clinked their glasses until Bella and Tommy kissed. Nicole held her head in her hand, and Sonny could smell the booze still wafting from her.

Servers set up the buffet alongside the far wall, and people started getting up and making their plates. Sonny made a plate for both him and Nicole and sat down, then his parents and sisters and nieces came back with their plates. 

Then you came over with your plate and sat down in the empty seat between Emma and his mother. Sonny looked you over – he had to admit that you looked lovely in your pale blue bridesmaid dress and your pinned up hair. You placed your napkin in your lap and turned to Emma.

“I thought I told Bella not to let you in,” you said with a mock frown, making his little niece giggle. You were great with his nieces, and he loved watching you with them. 

“I snuck in,” Emma retorted.

“That’s it.” You pretended to stand up. “I’m calling security.”

Emma laughed again, but Nicole broke in suddenly.

“Why are you here?” she asked. Her voice was gravelly from the cigarettes at the bar last night. Sonny watched as the smile slipped from your face, and Emma stopped laughing too.

“I…” you started, but Nicole cut you off.

“You aren’t family, so why are you at this table?” Sonny turned to look at his girlfriend – she was glaring at you with eyes still bloodshot from her hangover. 

The table fell uncomfortably silent. Sonny watched as all eyes turned to him – his parents, his sisters, his nieces. Yours. Everyone was waiting for him to say something, to come to your defense. As much as the Carisi family loved you, Nicole was Sonny’s girlfriend, so they were looking to see what he said or did.

You looked at him, your eyes almost pleading. He opened his mouth to respond to Nicole, to tell her that you _were _family and that you belonged there, but he waited just a beat too long. How many times had you explained to him the importance of timing in music? If he had pushed the words out only a split second sooner, it would have been fine. But he waited too long.

He watched as your pleading eyes turned cold. You stood up, your head held high, and picked up your plate and glass. And you walked away.

The rest of the dinner was uncomfortable – even Emma and Sophia were subdued, reading the mood. After everyone ate, his nieces drifted away, finding you at your new table. Nicole went back to the hotel room to sleep, and his sisters bickered over old childhood grievances. Sonny felt someone’s eyes on him, and he looked up to see his mom gazing at him.

“That was badly done,” she told him softly. He could only nod. She watched him a bit longer, then reached out and took his hand, rubbing the back of it like she used to do when he was home sick from school. He felt a flood of nostalgia and wanted to cry.

His mom tilted her head and studied him. “Are you okay, Sonny?” she finally asked. He wanted to put his head on her shoulder and tell her everything, but he was too old for that. All he could do was nod again. She patted his hand one last time, then stood up to go talk to a family friend on the other side of the room. His father followed her.

Sonny looked around the reception. People were paired up and laughing and dancing. Even you were settled at your new table, surrounded by his nieces.

He was the one left sitting alone.


	6. Chapter 6

The ride back from Montauk was tense, and Nicole spent a few nights at a friend’s place while everyone cooled off. Sonny went back to the grind of SVU, and for once, he appreciated the distraction from his personal life.

Nicole eventually came home, contrite and crying. Sonny forgave her, and he tried to make her understand that he was in it for the long haul if she was. She assured him that she was. They made up, once on the couch and once in the shower afterwards, and for a while, things seemed a lot better. 

For a while, anyway.

* * *

To say you were hurt was an understatement, but there was a bright silver lining: after Bella’s wedding, you deciding to stop thinking about Sonny altogether and instead focus on your work.

You finished the score to the indie movie. The movie, admittedly, was glorified film school tripe, but the producers managed to screen it at some smaller film festivals. While the writing was mocked, the acting was declared wooden, and the editing looked like it was done on Windows Movie Maker, critics were largely universal that your music was better than the film deserved.

You got a meeting with a smaller studio in Los Angeles. You flew out for a few days to meet with them and walk them through your portfolio. When you flew back to New York, you didn’t have the usual relief at being home.

But there was some buzz in New York about you too – people had heard about your scoring work, and you had a reputation as being reliable and innovative in musical circles – and you had a meeting with a semi-famous playwright who wanted to set an original script to music for an Off Broadway production.

Between all of the work opportunities, you didn’t have time to think about Sonny at all, even if you wanted to. You were so busy that you usually collapsed in bed late at night (or early in the morning), musical notes and phrases echoing through your dreams.

It was a Saturday afternoon, and you were performing a series of tasks that you colloquially called “unfucking your life.” You had a tendency to get wrapped up in work for long stretches of time, and then you’d raise your head and take a breath and notice that you had no groceries, no shampoo, and no clean clothes, and that your apartment was a hovel. When this happened, you set up some “unfucking” time: you made a list of errands and tackled them.

You were halfway through your list (done with grocery shopping, just starting on cleaning the bathroom) when your phone rang. You looked at the caller ID and saw the familiar name. Your stomach dropped but you answered it.

“Hello, Mrs. Carisi,” you said. “How are you?” You tried to sound cheerful, and it wasn’t that difficult – Sonny got his sunniness from his mother, and you let the older woman chatter about her hobbies now that she was an empty nester, as well as updates on all of her grandchildren. She asked about your work and life in general, eventually circling around to what she had called you for.

“Are you coming around for Thanksgiving?” she asked. “I want to know if I can count on you to bring one of your pies, so that I can plan my calories accordingly.”

You laughed. You spent almost all of your holidays with the Carisi’s, and you usually contributed by bringing your famous chocolate bourbon pecan pie. Mrs. Carisi especially loved it, but she usually complained as she cut herself a second slice about all the Zumba classes she’d have to take to burn it off.

Your laughter tapered off, and you thought about how to answer her. Sonny’s girlfriend’s words echoed through your head – you weren’t family, after all – and you didn’t want a repeat of Bella’s reception. Everyone had been awkward and uncomfortable afterwards, and you didn’t want to ruin a family holiday. 

“Actually, I’m heading out to see my dad,” you lied. “He’s remarried and has a few new kids, so I thought I’d go get to know my half-siblings.” It was only a half-lie, technically. Your father _had_ remarried and had a new family, but you hadn’t been invited to spend the holiday with him. You usually only heard from him once or twice a year anyway. Similarly, you weren’t going to your mother’s house – she was probably off on a singles cruise anyway.

“That’s great, Y/F/N,” Mrs. Carisi said. “We’ll miss you though.”

You felt a sad twinge. You hated to lie to her, and you’d miss them too, but it had to be this way. You weren’t family, and it had to end someday. Why not now? Might as well cut the cord before Sonny and Nicole got engaged and then married. You didn’t want to be forty years old, sitting across from them and their children.

“I’ll miss you too,” you replied. “Maybe next time. Give everyone my love though.”

You both signed off and hung up. You looked at your phone for a while afterwards. It was better this way, you reminded yourself. Maybe you’d even eventually believe it yourself.

* * *

By the time Thanksgiving came, Sonny was ready for a break. He traded off with Fin, agreeing to cover Christmas, and he headed to Staten Island for a long weekend.

Nicole went to Chicago to spend the holiday with her family. She had invited Sonny, but he declined. The brief period of domestic bliss after making up from the Montauk disaster had ended. She was back to spending late nights out with friends, generally harping on him about the contents of the refrigerator, and not being very supportive of his struggles at work. SVU had just closed a big case against the Catholic Church, and it left Sonny heart-sore and disgusted and thrown off of his usually demeanor.

He dragged himself into Thanksgiving weekend, looking forward to family and good food. And, he was hoping against hope, time with you.

When he saw the set table, though, he saw that there was one less place setting. His heart, already low, sunk even lower.

Dinner was delicious, as always. Sonny’s mother was an excellent cook, and he stuffed himself on the usual turkey and stuffing and mashed potatoes with parmesan. Firsts, seconds, and (for the potatoes) thirds. Sonny ate enough to make up for all the nights with Nicole’s self-imposed ban on carbs.

The meal was subdued, though. Bella, he could tell, missed her best friend. Tommy mirrored his mood to Bella’s. Theresa and her husband were fighting again, so there was tension there, and Sonny’s nieces were quietly cranky. Emma had asked where her “Aunt Y/F/N” was, and when Bella told her, she had cried a little.

Even Mia, despite her disaffected teenaged shtick, seemed to miss you. 

After dinner and before dessert, it was a Carisi tradition to play board games. Before you, it had been classics: Monopoly, Battleship, Sorry. You had introduced them to the wider world of role playing and strategy games, and it had been your tradition to bring a new game every year to add to the guest bedroom closet in Staten Island.

“What’re we playing this year?” Bella asked. 

Sonny’s mom told the girls to go pick a game from the closet, and Emma sprinted off with a shriek, outrunning her sisters. She came back a moment later with Risk under her arm. Your favorite.

“Can Aunt Y/F/N come now?” she asked. Risk was well out of Emma’s age range, so she usually teamed up with you, “helping” you strategize and moving your Calvary pieces while neighing like a horse. She also would imitate your evil cackle when you won. It made Sonny smile to remember it.

“She’s with her dad’s family,” Sonny’s mother told her. Sonny was surprised by this. You rarely spoke badly about people, but you didn’t have anything nice to say about your dad. He had been absent for most of your childhood, only showing up at your big occasions to fight with your mother and ruin it for you.

Bella chimed in. “She’s not at her dad’s,” she scoffed. “The last time she talked to him, she hung up the phone and called him a ‘living trash fire.’”

Sonny’s mom looked confused. “She lied to me?”

It was Mia with her teenaged ability to cut through bullshit and see to the heart of the matter. “Y/F/N probably isn’t here because Uncle Sonny’s girlfriend told her she wasn’t family.” Mia looked around the suddenly silent table and shrugged, embarrassed. Sonny ducked his head and felt a fresh wave of guilt wash over him. 

He found himself outside of your apartment that evening. His mother had packed him a massive box of leftovers to take you. 

And if you’d let him in, he needed to talk to you.

He stood outside your door, his ear turned to it. He could just make out the murmur of your television. And faintly, through the crack between the door and the jamb, the faint smell of pot. He smiled to himself. You weren’t a heavy smoker, but it did make you giggly. It might make this easier on him. 

He knocked and listened to the footsteps that came to the door. He knew you looked through your spyhole, judging by the “ah, fuck” you mumbled, but he heard you slide back the chain and deadbolt and open the door to him.

“NYPD, narcotics division,” he joked, but you didn’t smile at him. You just glared at him for a moment until he sighed and added, “can I come in?”

You didn’t answer. You just nodded and stepped aside, allowing him entry. The pot smell was stronger inside, and he watched you as you shut the door and locked it back up.

Your hair was twisted up and held in place by a mechanical pencil, and your face was makeup free, which made you look much younger than you were. Your eyes were a bit red from smoking, and you were doing that slow blink you did when you had a bit too much.

You were wearing dark grey sweatpants that ended mid-shin, and a concert t-shirt for some band he never heard of. It didn’t look like you were wearing a bra, he noted, but then he felt like a pervert for noticing.

“My ma wanted to send leftovers,” he said, handing you the box. “So she just sent everything that we didn’t eat.”

You took the box and placed it on your kitchen table, peering inside. “She packed it in the good Tupperware,” you noted. “That’s when you know you’re important.”

“You can just give it back to me when it’s all empty,” he replied, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Or I can give it to Bella,” you retorted. Sonny frowned. The giggly version of stoned you was nowhere to be found. Maybe you were on a different strain? He didn’t know enough about marijuana.

Suddenly the past few months caught up to him. The slap on the street, not seeing you or talking to you, the wedding and reception, and constant bickering with Nicole, the stress at work, the latest case against the Catholic Church…it all pressed down on him at once like a load of bricks. His shoulders slumped and he felt like he could lie down and sleep forever.

Your face softened a bit, and you gestured for him to sit down on your couch, which he did gratefully.

“You okay, stretch?” you asked haltingly. You sat down beside him, tucking a leg underneath you and facing him. 

He scrubbed his hands over his face. “Just tired.” He looked at you and gave you a rueful grin. “A lot going on.” You nodded, and he continued.

“I just wanted to talk to you about…all this.” He gestured between the two of you, and you nodded again. There was an awkward silence, and you finally broke it.

“I’m sorry I slapped you. I’m ashamed I did it, and you didn’t deserve it.”

“I did deserve it,” he replied. “I should have never said what I did.”

You shook your head at him. “No one deserves to be hit, Sonny. You work with SVU, so you should know that better than anyone. I’m sorry, and I wish I could undo it.”

“Well, I’m sorry I said what I said. I wish I could undo that myself.” There was another awkward silence, longer this time. He watched you out of the corner of his eye as you played with the drawstring on the waistband of your pants. You had elegant fingers, long and tapered, and Sonny loved watching you play your various instruments. 

He reached out and stilled your hands, taking one in his and holding it lightly. He waited until you raised your bleary eyes to look at him.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me that you…had a thing for me?” he asked.

You snorted lightly and pulled your hand away. “It wasn’t a _thing_, Sonny. I was in love with you for such a long time. And I almost told you once.”

“When?” He was surprised by this.

You went back to playing with your drawstring. “Remember the night we watched ‘Lost in Translation’?” He nodded, and you continued. “You had just broken up with that middle school teaching aide, and I thought ‘this is my chance.’ It was a perfect night. You had your arm around my shoulders and it was movie night….” You trailed off, obviously remembering it.

You took a deep breath. “I literally had my mouth open to tell you, but the movie started. You remember how that one opens? The first scene is literally Scarlett Johansson’s ass, and you started ranting about how you wanted a woman like that. You just went on and on about how she was the perfect woman and how you weren’t going to settle for anything less.”

Sonny laughed but you didn’t. You only looked at him with your solemn eyes. “I kinda remember that,” he admitted, feeling sheepish.

“That’s when I knew,” you said with a shrug. “You were never going to go for someone like me. You’d never settle for anything less than someone with Scarlett Johansson’s ass. And you never really have, Sonny.” He started to protest, but you cut him off.

“You date the hottest, most beautiful girls. I’m pretty secure about myself. I’m not hot or beautiful, but I’m talented and have a lot going for me. It’s just not anything you want. You want a woman that looks a certain way, that takes care of herself a certain way, no matter how mean or boring they are.” You looked away. “I used to be jealous, but I’m not anymore. Nicole is gorgeous, Sonny, but she’s the meanest person you’ve ever dated, and that’s saying a lot. Who comes to their boyfriend’s sister’s wedding hungover and bitching at family friends?”

Sonny replied, “she’s not always mean, Y/F/N. She can actually be quite sweet.”

You rolled your eyes at this. “Sonny, the last time we had a movie night, you spent the first hour complaining about your greying hair because Nicole said it made you look old. I missed crucial plot points because the woman you want to marry made you feel bad about the way you look. That doesn’t sound sweet to me.”

“I don’t…” he said but trailed off. You let the silence between you grow before you continued.

“The wedding reception was tough, but Nicole was right. You’re not family and never were.” You shook your head, and Sonny noticed the tears that were springing up in your eyes. “You were just a dream, Sonny. But I have to grow up now. I want a life of my own.”

“But I miss you,” Sonny protested, his voice low. “I miss my friend.”

You reached over and patted his hand. “I know. But I can’t be your friend without wanting more.” You took a deep breath. “I haven’t told Bella yet, so keep this to yourself until I can talk to her, but I’m going to move to Los Angeles. There’s more work out there for me, and I can get a fresh start.” You smiled at him sadly. “Maybe find my own Scarlett Johansson’s ass.”

Sonny felt his stomach drop. “You can’t leave New York,” he said. When he got upset or tired, his accent came out stronger, so it sounded like “New Yawk,” making you smile. “I’m not sure I can function without my friend.”

Your smile faded a bit. “You’ve functioned just fine the past few months without me,” but Sonny shook his head vehemently.

“I haven’t though,” and you started to talk over him to argue and he felt his stomach roiling at the thought of you leaving New York and him forever, and before he realized what he was doing, he was lunging across the couch to kiss you and make you stay. You jerked your head to the side at the last minute, and he caught the surprise written across your face before you shot to your feet.

“What the actual fuck, Sonny?” you yelled, and he hunched over on your couch, apologizing.

You didn’t let him finish. “I think you should go,” you said. You crossed your arms and scowled at him until he dropped his head and nodded. He stood up, wanting nothing more than to reach out and wrap you into one of his hugs. 

Instead, he left your apartment. When he heard you slide your deadbolt behind him, he tried to pretend it didn’t sound like something ending.


	7. Chapter 7

Sonny dragged himself home to his empty apartment, and for the first time in a long while, he got drunk. He worked his way through the remainder of a six-pack he had, and when that was gone, he helped himself to a few of Nicole’s alcoholic seltzer waters. They were disgusting, but they did the trick. Then he laid on the couch, one foot planted on the floor to stop the room from spinning. He tried to think.

You had raised valid points, he admitted. He _did _date traditionally beautiful women. He started to take umbrage to your claim that they were mean or boring, but when he thought about that – maybe you had a point there too. 

The middle school teaching aide you had mentioned? She cheated on Sonny and likely had never been faithful at all. The hedge fund manager absolutely hated children and had been offended when Sonny had casually mentioned that he was looking forward to fatherhood one day. The girl he met at Fordham only had one passion – reality television – and that relationship fizzled when he got tired of trying to keep the plotlines of the various shows straight. And now there was Nicole.

She was sweet sometimes. That had been true, but your comment was also true. What kind of girlfriend made her guy feel bad about his looks? If the genders were swapped, would he be so blasé about the way she treated him? If Tommy treated Bella that way, wouldn’t he beat the shit out of him?

He had a lot to consider, but the alcohol obliterated the final few functional brain cells and he passed out.

He woke up to Nicole coming into the apartment. She had caught an earlier flight because she missed him, she said. She took a note of the empty beer bottles and seltzer cans but didn’t say anything. Instead, she made her way to the kitchen and made him breakfast.

The next few weeks passed, and Sonny waited for the next blow up with Nicole, but it never came. She even helped him get the apartment ready for his nieces’ visit. For the past few years, Sonny took a long weekend with the Morino girls: they lived in Connecticut, and Christmas in New York could be magical. They came to visit their uncle and do all the cheesy tourist stuff – skating at Rockefeller Center, hot chocolate at the Christmas Market, Radio City Music Hall.

Usually you joined him for that long weekend. You would make the girls your patented gooey brownies and play board games with them and play little Christmas carols on your instruments. This year, though, Nicole would be taking your place. She seemed up to the task though. She told him that she was looking forward to it. 

Maybe the sweetness in her would win out after all, he thought.

* * *

Sonny showing up on Thanksgiving evening completely ruined your comfortable high, and now you were too worked up to sleep. You paced a bit and considered smoking a bit more, but you didn’t want to wake up still stoned. You finally settled down in your workspace. You opened up your songwriter software. 

You wrote music for everyone you knew. Everyone in your life – friends, family – had a theme song, a melody that flitted through your head when you were around them or thought about them. Your bandmates, Alicia and Jen, each had their own themes. Alicia’s was heavy on woodwinds; a low and mellow bassoon overlaid with flutes and piccolos. Jen’s was a booming brassy piece like a Sousa march. Bella’s theme was pure ‘80’s pop rock: keyboard interlude and electric guitar and drum machine.

Sonny’s piece was a complicated weaving of piano and strings, the two happily playing off of each other. You saved it on your computer…and started writing the reprise. You pulled out your cello, and then your violin, and recorded new string sections. The same theme, but sadder. More minor chords. 

By the time the sun started to rise, you had rewritten Sonny’s theme. You saved it as a reprise, then closed your laptop. 

Then you moved on. You started going through your stuff, determining what you would keep for your move – and what you would leave behind.

You met up with Bella a week later for lunch. She was finally starting to show, and you felt a pang of regret that you’d miss so many milestones in her life.

When you told her, Bella made it perfectly clear that she felt the same way: she spent the first few minutes chewing you out about the inferiority of the west coast, then segued into ranting about how her brother was an idiot and that you shouldn’t leave because of him.

“I’m not leaving because of Sonny,” you replied with a sigh. “My life has felt on hold for so long, and I want a fresh start. You’re married now with a kid on the way. Sonny is going to be engaged soon.” You shook your head at her. “I want all of that, but I don’t feel like I’ll get it here.”

“You’re not gonna find it in Los Angeles,” she snapped. “You’ll be sitting in traffic too much to find a nice guy.”

“Well, I’m not gonna find it here,” you snapped back. “Not when your damned brother acts like he’s not interested but then tries to kiss me when I say I’m leaving.”

The scowl on Bella’s face disappeared. “He tried to kiss you?” 

You nodded. “I told him that I was leaving New York, and he leaned in to kiss me.” You scoffed. “He’s just upset that his emotional crutch is leaving.”

Your friend looked thoughtful for a moment. “Maybe he has feelings for you after all.”

“No.” You pushed your plate aside, your lunch only half eaten. Your appetite had vanished altogether. 

“But maybe,” Bella insisted. She leaned forward, one hand placed across her growing stomach. “He looked so sad at Thanksgiving when he realized you weren’t coming. And he kept watching you at my reception.” Her forehead crinkled in thought. 

“No,” you repeated. “Nope.”

“Maybe yes though.” Bella was gazing at some spot over your shoulder, and you could tell that she was deep in thought. “Sonny never visited me at college until you became my roommate sophomore year. And he was the one who suggested you could stay with us over the summer between semesters….”

“Bella, stop it,” you cut in. “I’m not his type.”

“You don’t know that,” she replied. “You know, he never was a cinephile before he met you – then he was suddenly into artsy movies. That became your thing together. Then you started hanging out together for other things…”

“Because Tommy was out of prison then, and the two of you paired off.”

“You had your movie nights, your dinners together. You had those Christmas weekends with Theresa’s girls.”

You sighed. “Key word being ‘had.’ Past tense, Bella. I’m looking to the future now.”

* * *

The long weekend started poorly. Theresa and her husband dropped the girls off on Thursday evening, and then they headed to LaGuardia for their own little couple’s retreat. Their marriage was struggling, and they were taking advantage of some time away from the kids to rekindle the proverbial spark. 

About a minute after their parents drove away, though, the girls started to act out. Mia was openly hostile to Nicole, only giving monosyllabic answers to her questions. Emma asked where you were at least three times after Sonny explained you weren’t coming. And Sophia kept asking where the brownies were.

“No brownies here,” Nicole declared. She reached out and poked Sophia in her round child’s belly. “Brownies are nothing but carbs and sugar and fat.”

Sonny cleared his throat. “We’ll order some dessert after dinner,” he promised. 

“But what are we even going to do today?” Emma whined. “I’m bored.”

“Well, you know we usually stay in the first evening,” Sonny reminded her. “We play games and make dinner…”

“What’s for dinner?” Sophia broke in. Her eyes lit up at the possibilities. “Nonna’s chicken parm?”

Nicole laughed lightly. “I’m making dinner tonight,” she told the girls. “Baked chicken and roasted butternut squash. It’s paleo.”

Mia scrunched her nose at this, and Emma asked, “what’s paleo?”

It went downhill from there.

* * *

It was Friday night, and everyone was miserable. Mia spent so much time on her phone that she just kept it plugged in constantly. Emma and Sophia were tired from skating at Rockefeller Center, and they were cranky because they had wanted hot chocolate after skating, but Nicole had made a comment about calories, so they decided against it. 

Then halfway home, Emma changed her mind and cried because it turned out she really _did_want the hot chocolate. But then it was too late, and Emma wailed because apparently there was only one place in the entire city that had hot chocolate and the mix in Sonny’s apartment would never compare.

Then Nicole snapped at her. She told her that crying was for babies, and Sophia got in on the act, calling Emma a baby until she cried so hard that she was gagging and choking on her own ramped up emotions.

Then Emma had hauled off and smacked Sophia hard enough to make her cry, and Nicole fled to the bathroom. Sonny found her there half an hour later, perched on the edge of the tub and scrolling through her phone.

Then Liv called with an emergency – Amanda was home with Jesse, who was sick – so Sonny had to go in. He got changed quickly and told Nicole to hold down the fort while he was out. She only glared at him as he pulled on his coat and left.

* * *

You were knee deep in your vinyl collection, trying to figure out what to keep and what to take to L.A. The problem was that even after three passes through the collection, you only had five albums you were willing to part with. And two of those were duplicates of ones you were keeping. 

Your phone chirped from somewhere behind you, and you groped blindly for it until you had it. It was Bella’s niece, Mia. You sighed and answered.

“Hi, Mia,” you said, but the teenager was already talking. “Whoa, slow down,” you told her.

You got her calmed down enough to explain the situation. The girls were in the city for the annual Christmas holiday trip. Uncle Sonny got called out to work, and Nicole was left in charge. But then Nicole left to go out for a drink with friends and left Mia in charge, which was fine at first. But then it got later and no one was there and there were weird noises coming from the hallway and Emma swore that she saw a face looking in the window even though Sonny was on the eighth floor of his building.

“Okay, okay,” you replied. “Let me call Sonny…” but Mia cut you off.

“Uncle Sonny isn’t picking up his phone,” she said. You could hear how shaky her voice was and realized that despite her teenaged bravado, she was probably scared too. The girls lived in a cozy suburb in Connecticut, so the city was obviously much more than they were used to. “And neither is Aunt Bella. And I don’t want to call mom and dad…”

“Okay,” you repeated. You stood up from your place on the floor and made your way into the bedroom. “Stay inside, and I’ll be there in ten minutes. I’ll call you when I’m there.” You hung up and changed out of your pajamas into a pair of jeans and a band t-shirt. You grabbed your coat from the entryway and left your apartment. 

Sonny’s place was only a few blocks away, and even with the icy sidewalks, you made good time. You dialed Mia when you were outside, and you walked her through how to ring you in. When you reached Sonny’s door, you knocked lightly and listened as Mia undid all the locks. She swung the door open, and both Sophia and Emma flew out and hugged you fiercely.

* * *

It was one in the morning when Sonny got home. The case was a sexual assault on the subway, and he had spent hours lining up witness statements and talking with transit police. He was exhausted when he slid his key in the lock, but at least everyone would be asleep. He could have a beer on the couch and unwind. 

The apartment was quiet, but when he made his way to his kitchen, he noticed that someone was asleep on the couch. He looked closer, and in the weak light he saw you. He felt his heart lurch at the sight of you, and for a moment, he didn’t even question why you were there.

You were curled up on your side with one of Sonny’s couch pillows underneath your head. Your hands were drawn up by your head, and he could just make out one of them twitching. It made him smile – how many times have you fallen asleep at his place, and how many times has he watched you play music in your sleep? 

He set down his coat and made his way over to perch on the edge of his coffee table, just watching you. Your hair was loose, and your mouth was parted slightly as you breathed, slow and steady. He watched your twitching hand and wondered what you were playing in your dreams. Your cello, most likely. You could play just about any instrument, but your cello was your favorite. 

He reached out and took your hand very carefully in his. He didn’t want to wake you, and for a moment, he didn’t. He felt your hand squeeze his, and he felt tears spring up in his eyes. He couldn’t imagine his life without you in it. 

Your hand spasmed in his again, and he watched you wake up. Your eyes opened slowly, and he watched as you looked at him, realization washing over you.

“Hi,” you said groggily. You pulled your hand from his and sat up, running a hand over your hair and then rubbing your eyes. “What time is it?”

“A little after one,” he replied. “What are you doing here?”

You tugged your hands through your hair, finger-combing it and then pulled an elastic off of your wrist to put it up into a messy ponytail. You looked him square in the eyes and gave him a bitter laugh.

“Interesting story,” you said. “Your beautiful and ‘actually quite sweet’ girlfriend went out drinking with friends and left your nieces here.” You stood up and stretched, and Sonny stood up too. 

“I saw that I missed calls from Mia,” he replied. “She didn’t leave any messages though.”

“Yeah, well, they got a hold of me instead.” You peered up at him. “They were terrified, Sonny. They aren’t used to the big city, you know.”

Sonny rubbed the back of his neck. “I know.” 

You opened your mouth to say something else but thought better of it and snapped your jaw closed with an audible click. Sonny felt exhausted and irritated. 

“Just say what you’re gonna say, Y/F/N.”

You shook your head, and there was an awkward silence between you for a moment. Then you gave that bitter laugh again.

“Why was Emma asking me if her Nonna’s cannoli are part of the paleo diet? What kind of person tells little girls that they need to count calories, Sonny? Who leaves little girls alone in an unfamiliar city?” You looked up at him. “People can’t help how they look, whether they’re born beautiful or talented or boring. But being a dick to kids? That’s a choice, Sonny.” You turned and walked away, making your way to his entryway. He followed you and watched as you pulled on your coat and slipped into your snow boots.

“Everyone has a choice. You deserve better than this, Sonny,” you said sadly. You nodded towards the guest bedroom. “Your nieces deserve better too.” You turned to leave, but Sonny reached out and took a hold of the hem of your coat, tugging you back.

“They missed their Aunt Y/F/N,” he said, not looking at you. He focused on his hand on your coat, his long fingers holding fast on the heavy wool of your pea coat. “I missed you too.”

Another awkward silence filled the room until it was pressing down on Sonny. He felt like his chest was going to collapse under the pressure. He felt like if he let you walk out that door, he’d never see you again. He knew, from talking to Bella, that you were starting to pack and search for a place in L.A. You reached down and tugged your coat out of his grasp. He watched you reach for the doorknob, and so Sonny made a choice.

“Jailbait,” he blurted out. You dropped your hand from his door and turned to face him, completely confused.

“That’s – that’s what my roommate used to call you,” he added. “Remember Dave?”

You scrunched your face in thought and then nodded. “You had that place in Brooklyn.”

Sonny nodded. “We had just graduated, and you and Bella crashed with us a few times when you were in college. When you had concerts in the city and stuff.” You nodded at him, so he continued.

“Dave always called you ‘jailbait.’ He’d joke around with me that you were so much younger than me, and that you looked even younger than that. It became a routine when he knew you were coming to visit. ‘Sonny likes ‘em barely legal,’ all that.” Sonny scrubbed his hands over his face, still not able to look you in the eye.

“It made me feel weird,” he admitted. “You were this adorable kid the same age as my sister, and I liked you so much. Dave figured it out and started calling you ‘jailbait,’ and it made me feel like a pervert. And then I got to know you, and I liked you even more. But I didn’t know what to do, and you were so supportive and nice, even when I was dating other women, that I thought, ‘at least she’s my friend.’ At least I had that.” He looked up and saw you staring at him. “But I don’t even have that anymore, do I?”

You started to answer, but there was a key in the lock at that moment, and Nicole pushed her way into the apartment. Sonny could smell the alcohol wafting off of her, and he saw his girlfriend’s face as she took in the pair of you.

“What the f…” she started to slur, but you cut her off, catching the door before it slammed shut.

“Good luck with all this, Sonny,” you said, looking at him sadly. Then you turned to face Nicole, who was glaring at you.

“And I hope you choke on a carb,” you told her before you slammed the door on them.

Sonny broke up with Nicole that night, and then again in the morning, when she was sober and could remember it. He tried calling and texting you a few times, but you didn’t respond. He’d give it a few days. Maybe he’d surprise you for Christmas.


	8. Chapter 8

You used to spend Christmas Eve with the Carisi family, even sitting through a Mass that seemed to last forever. Obviously, that was off the table now.

Your mind tried to drift to Sonny’s confession, but you actively pushed it away. You had made your choice, and you weren’t backing down now. Bella told you that Sonny had broken up with Nicole that night, but you knew it was only a matter of time before he moved on with someone else. Probably his partner at work. You’d met the woman – Amanda – a few times, and she was just the right combination of hot and messy. That was like catnip to Sonny.

You reached out to your mom, but she was headed to some resort in the Bahamas for Christmas with her other divorcee friends. You didn’t even bother to call your dad.

Instead, you met up with your bandmate Jen. She played her violin at a soup kitchen on Christmas Eve, and you joined her with your cello. The two of you played happy music – Christmas carols and some lighter classical pieces – and you looked around the room at the people eating and talking in a low murmur. You felt ashamed at your months-long pity-party. People had it much worse than you.

The two of you played until the soup kitchen was done serving food and the kitchen was torn down and cleaned. Then you stayed to help set up the emergency homeless shelter – New York could get bitter cold, and makeshift shelters popped up in church basements across the city to help protect the homeless from literally dying in the streets.

You and Jen finished up, then gathered your stuff. You left the building and sat your cello case down for a moment so that you could wind your scarf around your neck more securely.

“Thanks for coming out,” Jen said, her teeth chattering. “It meant a lot.”

“I enjoyed it,” you replied. You hefted your case and turned away with a wave. “Merry Christmas, Jen.”

* * *

Sonny was working Christmas Eve, but it was slow. Rapists and perverts seemed to take the holiday off, so he just sat at his desk and worked on paperwork. 

It was late when he heard the elevator ding down the hallway, and then heard footsteps rushing towards him. He looked up and was surprised by who he saw. Bella.

“You’re not picking up your phone!” she yelled as she strode into the precinct. Sonny looked down at his cell and saw that it was silenced. He must have missed it vibrating. When he took it off the lock screen, he saw that he’d missed a lot of calls and texts from Bella. And from an unknown number.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. Bella looked awful. Her hair was messy, and her coat wasn’t even buttoned. 

“It’s Y/F/N,” she said, tears spilling over her eyelashes. She swiped at them with a gloved hand. “Something happened. Her friend called me. Tried to call you.”

Sonny felt his heart drop into his stomach. “What happened?”

Bella shook her head. “I don’t know. Her friend called from Bellevue.” She gave a choked sob. “Sonny, can you drive me there?”

On the drive to the hospital, Sonny let every possibility run through his head. You went home with a bad guy. You got mugged walking home. You overdosed on weed. Was that technically possible? Maybe nowadays, with edibles. His work at SVU crowded into his thoughts, and he imagined every terrible thing he’d ever seen at work happening to you. Assaulted, raped, murdered. His stomach churned and roiled, and Bella openly sobbing beside him didn’t help.

They found parking and made their way to the emergency room. They found your bandmate, Jen, sitting alone alongside a wall. Sonny looked her over and saw the blood on her clothes. His stomach dipped, and he felt his gorge rising in his throat.

Jen caught sight of Sonny and Bella, and she shot to her feet and came over to them. Her eyes were swollen from crying, and she reached into her pocket. She pulled out your phone – Sonny would recognize the case anywhere. He saw the crack that ran across the screen.

“I didn’t know who else to call,” Jen said, her voice watery with tears. “I tried both of you because you had the most calls and texts to her. Her parents didn’t pick up.”

“What happened?” Bella asked, and Jen filled them in.

You and Jen had been leaving the soup kitchen. Jen had turned to walk away but heard a squeal of brakes and turned just in time to see the car that hit you.

“I told her not to jay-walk,” Sonny said angrily, but Jen shook her head at him.

“She wasn’t,” she insisted. “She was just standing on the sidewalk. The car jumped the curb and hit her.” She shook her head again, harder this time. “The car tried to leave the scene, but it swerved into traffic and hit another car. Drunk driver, probably. The cops arrested him.”

“How is she now?” Bella asked.

Jen’s eyes filled with fresh tears. “She was in surgery. I don’t know anymore. No one will tell me anything because I’m not family. I tried to tell them that her family wasn’t around…” She trailed off, her words breaking up around her fresh sobs. She looked down at her front, her hands shaking in front of her. “There was so much blood.”

Sonny led Jen to a chair and had her sit down, then he made Bella sit too. “I’m going to go find someone,” he said.

He wandered around until he found the nurses’ station. “I’m here for Y/F/N Y/L/N,” he said with as much authority as he could muster. The nurse looked him over skeptically, so he blurted out, “I’m her husband.”

The look on the nurse’s face changed to one of concern. “Of course,” she said. “I’ll have the doctor come out to talk with you.”

Sonny leaned against the counter and bargained with God. He promised a lifetime of masses. A million rosaries. Anything, in exchange for your life.

A doctor eventually came down the hallway, and Sonny felt the now-familiar churn in his gut at the blood splattered across the doctor’s scrubs. “Mr. Y/L/N,” he said, extending a hand. “Let’s go sit down, shall we?”

The doctor explained the situation. You hadn’t seen the car coming for you, and that likely saved your life. You hadn’t tensed up when it hit you, and your cello had absorbed part of the blow too. Still, you were in fair-to-stable condition. You had a broken arm, a broken leg, and numerous cracked ribs. Your liver was bruised, you had deep abrasions from hitting the pavement. You had lost a fair amount of blood through a number of cuts and scrapes to your head. Sonny could see you eventually, once you were set up in a room in the ICU and stabilized.

“Your wife is lucky to be alive,” the doctor concluded. Sonny felt his heart lurch at the thought of you as his wife. “But you should call her family, if she has any.”

* * *

Sonny sent Bella home to rest, and he promised to call her if anything changed. He sent Jen home as well after he took your cracked phone from her. He tried to open it, but it was locked. 

“Do you know her password?” he asked your bandmate. 

The woman sniffled and swiped a hand under her nose. “7-9-3-4. Beethoven’s her favorite composer, and those are her favorite symphonies in order.”

Sonny unlocked it and tried to call your parents. He had to search a little – you didn’t even have them saved as “mom” or “dad.” He found your mother saved under her first name, and your father’s contact information was saved under the moniker “Dumpster Fire.” Neither parent picked up, so he used his most official NYPD voice and left them messages. Then he called Liv and gave her the situation. Then he called his parents, who were just leaving Mass. They made their way straight to Bellevue.

Sonny was sitting in the mostly-empty waiting room when his parents walked through the door. He didn’t even try to hold back his emotions anymore. His mother reached him first, and she pulled him into a strong hug, and he cried for a very long time.

The doctor let him see you eventually. The nurse explained that, as family, he could stay on the fold-out chair in the room, so Sonny sent his parents off to his apartment to get him some clothes and toiletries. Then he made his way to your room. 

You looked so unlike yourself that Sonny almost thought that there had been a mistake. One leg was in traction, and nearly every other part of you was covered by gauze or bandages. Your face was a mass of bruises, and the only part of you that Sonny recognized were your hands. They lay limp on top of the light blanket that covered you, and Sonny took one gently and held it as he sat beside you.

It wasn’t twitching this time. You weren’t playing any music in your sleep. You had a mass of wires connected to you that kept the machines by the bed beeping steadily, and you were deep asleep from the combination of sedatives and pain medication. 

The nurse that came in to check your vitals shot Sonny a pitying look when he asked if you could hear him. “Maybe,” she replied, punching an update into her computer. “It couldn’t hurt to talk to her.”

So Sonny talked to you.

It was like confession, almost. He told you everything.

He held your warm hand in his and told you about the first time he met you. He had helped his parents move Bella into her new quad during her sophomore year, and then you – a bright-eyed freshman – walked through the door. Freshman housing was full, so you got lucky and were placed in Bella’s dorm. You were laden down with too much stuff, and Sonny had bounded over like a puppy to help you.

He ended up helping you move your stuff, since your parents were too busy bickering in the parking lot. You joked around with him, and by the time your last box was moved in, he was in love.

He told you about his sudden interest in visiting Bella – for homecoming weekends, for big school events – just to see you. He was endlessly fascinated by your talent, and he came more than once to watch you play in concerts and open mic nights alike. Sometimes he just sat back in the shadows and watched you, not even telling you that he was there.

He told you about how happy he was when you and Bella came to crash at his first apartment, sleeping on an air mattress in his living room so that you could go to concerts in the city. He explained the exquisite torture of sleeping ten feet from you, separated by a thin wall, wishing he was stretched out on the air mattress beside you. He described the conflict that his roommate’s comments caused in him – you looked so young and seemed so sheltered and innocent, Sonny felt like a complete creep for having any sort of feelings for you.

He told you about how he campaigned to get you to spend your summers at his parents’ house. It made perfect sense – you had an internship in the city, and you could save money on housing, and his parents loved you like another daughter by then. Suddenly, Sonny found reasons to come home over the summer. He knew women liked a man in uniform, so he made sure to show up after his shifts in his police blues, hoping you were one of those women.

He told you about his sudden, intense interest in movies. You’d mention a director or score composer, and he’d do furious research until he could talk intelligently about them too. By then, Tommy was out of prison and Bella was spending all of her time with him, but Sonny started movie night to keep you close to him.

He told you, a bit ashamed, about how he’d crank up the air conditioner so that you’d drift closer to him on the couch for warmth.

What he couldn’t tell you was why he never told you any of this before. He didn’t even know himself. He supposed that there’d always be a better time or place for it. The better place for it turned out to be the intensive care unit, and the better time was now.

* * *

Being hit by a car wasn’t like it seemed on television or in the movies. There was no death-bed confessions that you heard, no waking up with the love of your life asleep in the chair beside you. No moment where you had to choose between drifting into the light and returning to your body. 

One minute you had been playing your cello at the soup kitchen. The next minute, you were in a hospital bed and crying incoherently from the pain.

You drifted in and out. You were never quite sure if it was day or night. A lovely nurse, as beautiful as an angel, came in and gave you morphine on a regular schedule. If you had the mental capacity to write her theme song, it would be nothing but the most ethereal music. A chorus of sopranos. The morphine made you emotional, but it obliterated the grinding pain that ruled your world.

Sonny was there every day. You were either asleep or high on pain medicine, and you could barely string together a coherent sentence at first, so you missed a lot of his visits. Sometimes you woke up to him holding your hand and talking to you. Sometimes he came after work, handsome in his suits. Once, he fell asleep beside you, his head laid in his folded arms on the side of your bed. That time, you were able to lay a weak hand on his head, ruffling his hair, wishing you could follow a train of thought long enough to tell him how you felt. 

* * *

You woke up from your surgery, and Sonny was on his knees that night, thanking god for it. You were alive – breathing, crying, healing. 

Well, you cried a lot. You woke up confused, and you had a lot of delusions at first. Sometimes you thought you were on a reality show. Sometimes you thought you were dreaming and that you were in a coma somewhere else. One time you were convinced that the IV drip had “superhero serum” in it. When Sonny asked you what that meant, you had merely glared at him and slurred, “wouldn’t you like to know.”

When they shifted you from morphine to other pain medications, you reacted badly to those. You cried at everything. You cried at the hospital food, you cried at therapy. You cried at daytime television. Once, Sonny found you just sitting in bed, giant tears rolling down your face. When he asked why you were crying, you told him, your breath hitching as you sobbed, that you felt badly because you had “said some rude things” about Brahms.  
  
“I just want to apologize to him one last time.” It took him another few moments to understand that you thought you had been talking to Brahms at one point and that you wanted to, somehow, apologize to a composer who had been dead for a hundred years. Sonny had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop from laughing at you – you were so distraught. All he could do was wipe away your tears and tell you that all was forgiven.

Some of the tears were valid though.

You cried when you saw your cello, crushed beyond recognition. It had helped save your life, but it was a one-of-a-kind instrument and the first real investment in your career that you had made. In the depression that fell over you during your hospital stay, you became convinced that you’d never play music again.

You cried a lot about your parents, too.

Sonny always knew that your family was not like his. Between the few spats he had witnessed himself and overhearing you and Bella making comments about them, he figured your parents had issues. 

Your father called him back when you were still unconscious from your surgery. He made some lame excuses about trying to find a flight to New York over the holidays, and in the end, he just asked Sonny to keep him updated. He promised to send along some money to help with your medical bills, but otherwise, your father was out of the picture.

You mother visited later, once you were out of the ICU and trying to figure out the next steps of your rehab. There was no way you could go back to your apartment right away – it was a four-story walk-up, and you could barely walk with all your broken bones and diminished stamina.

Tentatively, you had asked your mother if you could go home to recover. You could rent a car together and she could drive you home, then you could return to New York once you were healed up.

“Oh, I don’t know, honey,” your mother had said absentmindedly. “You know I’m not good with stuff like that.”

Sonny was standing by the window, listening to your conversation and seething. He could think of at least ten family members of his own who would gladly help you recover, and your own mother couldn’t be bothered. But at least she showed up. Your father never even made an appearance.

Sonny turned and watched you as you reacted to your mother. He watched your face: first the disappointment, then the stony, blank face. 

“It’s fine,” you replied, your voice flat. “I’ll figure it out.”

“That’s my girl,” your mother replied. She reached over and fluffed your hair before wincing at a healing cut on your forehead. “You know, if you parted your hair on the other side, you can cover this. Because it looks like it’s going to scar.”

“Good idea,” you said. You stared off at the wall opposite to your bed until your mother left. Her flight didn’t leave until the next day, but she had a ticket to see “Wicked” and wanted to grab dinner beforehand.

“I’ll call you and check in once I’m home,” she said. She kissed your cheek and gave Sonny a wave and was gone.

Sonny watched you for a moment, and then he walked over to your bedside. “You okay, doll?” he asked softly. You shook your head slightly, and he could tell you were trying to hold back more tears.

“You don’t have to stay, stretch,” you replied. You glanced at him for a second, then shifted your eyes to your broken arm. You toyed with the edge of the plaster. “I have to figure some things out anyway. Make some calls.”

“You don’t have to do any of that.” He reached out and laid his hand on your good arm, squeezing it gently. “You’re gonna come stay with me until you’re healed up."

You shook your head again. “I can’t…” 

“You can. You will.” He rubbed your arm and watched as the tears spilled over and ran down your face. “My building has an elevator, I have plenty of PTO banked up. Between me and Bella and my parents, we can handle it. And when you get tired of the Carisi’s, your bandmates can help.”

“It’s going to be a month or longer,” you protested, but he shifted his hand to grasp yours.

“I’ve got plenty of movies queued up,” he replied. He tilted his head at you and gave you his winningest smile until you couldn’t help but grin back at him.


	9. Chapter 9

It was awkward at first. You moved into Sonny’s tiny guest room. He tried to convince you to take his bed, but you refused: he was too tall for both the twin in the guest room and his couch, and you weren’t going to be comfortable anywhere anyway. He gave you every pillow he had to help prop up your broken leg and broken arm, fussing over you each night and clucking like a mother duck. It would have made you smile if you weren’t in so much pain. 

Your doctors had sent you home with a generous amount of pain pills, but you reacted badly to them and rarely took them. You took ibuprofen and just weathered the pain. You only took the stronger stuff after your therapy appointments.

Sonny took you to most of your appointments. He took time off and long lunches when he had to work. When he couldn’t make it, he had a roster of people to fill in: Bella and Tommy, his parents, your bandmates. He had a phone tree of people ready and willing to help you. 

One time, Sonny’s partner Amanda Rollins drove you to your therapy appointment. Sonny was stuck in court, so the petite blonde picked you up. She was gorgeous, and you felt like a complete slug sitting beside her in her car. You also felt a thin filament of jealousy coursing through you; you knew that Sonny spent a lot of hours with her, so the two of them being close was inevitable.

She was a complete charmer though. “Carisi talks about you all the time,” she said as she navigated the afternoon traffic to the rehab facility.

“I suppose having most of my bones broken and taking up his guest room would qualify as a fun topic of conversation,” you joked lamely, but the woman shook her head at this.

“No, he’s always talked about you, even before the accident.” She muttered a curse at the traffic in front of her and took a cross-street to avoid it. “I should thank you, actually. Carisi’s always playing new music that you recommend to him. My musical horizons have definitely expanded because of you.”

You smiled, and Amanda continued. 

“You made him a playlist once after a tough case. He played it in the precinct late that night when we were wrapping up the paperwork. It was really great. Actually made me feel better when I didn’t think anything would.”

The two of you sat in silence for a moment. Then Amanda cleared her throat. 

“You know, Carisi is sort of the optimist of the squad. The work we do…it can really make you bitter. But Carisi can always find a bright spot. But I think that you’re the one that helps keep him, well, sunny.”

She turned and glanced at you, and you looked back at her. “That’s not true,” you replied.

“It is, I think,” she said. “I know that when the two of you were…arguing, he wasn’t himself.”

You made a thoughtful _hmm_, but didn’t reply.

* * *

Sonny was happy. It was tempered, of course, with the sorrow of seeing you in pain, but Sonny loved having you in his apartment. He loved rushing home at night to make you dinner; he loved driving you to your appointments and picking up your mail and refilling your prescriptions. He loved tucking you in at night, even if it was torture sleeping in a separate room from you. 

He even loved the elaborate process of wrapping your casts in plastic bags before you took your awkward baths. You were oddly modest, and once your plaster was protected, you would cross your arms (awkwardly) and wait until he was out of the bathroom and the door was solidly shut. Then he spent the next hour listening to your mutters and curses as you tried to wash your hair one-handed.

He did hate seeing you in pain. He knew that you reacted badly to the pain meds, and you had refused to take them once you got released from the hospital. With nothing standing between you and the pain, you were only a shadow of your usual self. You slept poorly throughout the day, and your nights were sleepless as a result. 

You had lost a lot of weight in the hospital, and despite Sonny’s attempts to tempt you with homemade pasta and sauces and desserts, you stayed thinner than you usually were. As a result of your lost weight, you were always cold: he wrapped you in his sweatshirts and blankets, and in the evenings, he’d pull you in against him and cuddle with you on the couch, hoping to share some of his body heat with you.

He was always careful with you. You were still healing, after all, and you had broken ribs on top of everything, so Sonny always made sure to snake a cautious arm around your shoulders, letting you settle against him until you were comfortable. 

He was just happy to have you with him. Now that he had you, he wasn’t going to let you go.

* * *

It took about a month after you were discharged from the hospital for your ribs and arm to heal. Your leg needed a little more time, but you graduated to a walking cast and were able to do more for yourself. 

The driver who hit you was arrested, but more importantly, his insurance settled with you. You got a tidy sum, and it was enough to replace your cello – and then some. 

The first weekend after you had the cast on your arm removed, Sonny drove you to a tiny storefront in Brooklyn. You spent several hours trying out various cellos (as well as your freshly healed arm). Armed with your settlement money, you finally selected a benchmade instrument made by Antonio Stradivari in 1712. It was made of Russian spruce with ebony fittings and fingerboards, and it’s sound was true and gorgeously mellow. It was love at first sound.

You played a variation on “Für Elise,” one of the first pieces you had learned to play as a kid. When you looked up, you saw Sonny leaning against the wall, gazing at you with a soft smile on his face. You couldn’t help but smile back.

The smile didn’t last, though.

As you healed, you had a lot of time to think. You thought about your parents and their history and your own childhood. You thought about how you had latched onto Bella and Sonny and their family as soon as you got to college. You thought about your life after college and what may lay ahead for you.

You also thought about Sonny. A lot. It was hard not to. He literally tucked you in at night after he stuffed you full of homemade food. He made every moment of your recovery as easy as humanly possible. You saw the way he watched you, and you knew what was coming next.

A few weeks after you bought your cello, you had your leg cast removed. Your physical therapy wound down as well, leaving you with at-home exercises that you did diligently to regain your lost strength. There was no reason to stay with Sonny any more – you could handle your own walk-up apartment, and you could navigate your way to any appointments that you had left. 

You didn’t know if you would end up broaching the topic or if Sonny would. The evening after you had your leg cast removed, Sonny removed any doubt. You knew he was gearing up to ask you.

He outdid himself with dinner: his mom’s chicken parmesan, homemade pasta, and homemade tiramisu for dessert. He opened a bottle of wine and lit candles for the table. You felt sick to your stomach through the entire meal, and when Sonny led you to the couch to talk, you almost threw up altogether.

He sat on the couch, one of his long legs tucked underneath him, and you perched on the edge beside him. He reached out and took one of your hands in his, and you glanced over at him long enough to see him smiling at you, his blue eyes bright.

“Y/F/N,” he started, but you couldn’t let him continue.

“Stop,” you interrupted him. You had to take a deep breath to try and collect yourself, and you felt his hand grasping yours firmly as he waited. “Sonny, I need to tell you something, but I worry that you’ll stop listening once I get the first part out.”

He reached out with his other hand and tilted your head so that you were facing him. His smiling face was replaced by one of concern, and you felt yourself tearing up. You didn’t want to hurt him, but it felt inevitable, like a freight train bearing down on you.

“Sonny,” you said, your voice shaky with emotion. “I know what you’re going to ask me, but I can’t. I’m….I’m still going to move to L.A.”

He dropped his hand from the side of your face, and he dropped his hold on your hand. You looked up and saw the pain written across his face and hated that you were the cause of it.

“I can’t ever repay you for everything you’ve done for me,” you continued. One tear, and then another, rolled down your face. You didn’t bother wiping them away. 

“You don’t have to repay me,” he protested. “I did it because I love you.”

You nodded. “I know. And I love you too, Sonny. More than you know.”

He gave a bitter laugh. “Sure.”

“I do. I loved you from the moment I met you, and I’ve loved you more every day since then.”

“But I was too late,” he replied. “It took me too long…”

“No,” you shook your head vehemently at him. “Sonny, I’ve done nothing but think the past two months.” You reached out and took his hand in both of yours. “I grew up in a miserable home. My mother was bright and had a future ahead of her, but she settled into marrying my dad right out of high school. She grew to resent him, he resented her resentment. They made each other miserable and then had me, and then there were three miserable people living in that house. You’ve met them, Sonny. You’ve seen what a lifetime of resentment can turn you into.” You took a deep breath and continued.

“I need to take time for myself to see what I can do with my talent. If I go to L.A., even for a year, I can either make it or not. If I do, then that’s great. If I don’t, then I’ll never have to wonder ‘what if.’ I’ll never have this bitter resentment taking over my life when I’m older.”

Sonny didn’t answer, so you looked up at him and saw the tears in his own eyes. You couldn’t help but reach out and cup his face with your hand.

“Stretch, I don’t ever want to resent you,” you said softly. “And I don’t want you to ever feel obligated to me. You bounce from relationship to relationship, and I don’t want you to settle on me because I needed to be taken care of for a few months.” You gave him a weak smile. “You like to mother people, Sonny. You like to feel needed.”

He nodded and leaned into your touch, shutting his eyes. You were both silent – the only sound was the traffic outside of his window and the occasional murmur of other tenants in the hallway. “When are you leaving?” he finally whispered.

“In a week,” you replied. “I have a place sublet out there, and I have someone lined up to sublet my apartment here. I have meetings lined up for some projects out there already too.”

He nodded again, his eyes squeezed shut. A tear crept out from under his eyelid, and you reached up and wiped it away gently. “I was too late,” he whispered, his voice choked with tears.

“Oh, Sonny.” You leaned in and wrapped your arms around his neck, and he turned and pressed his face into the crook of your neck. “This isn’t goodbye. I just want a year out there to see what I can do on my own.”

You held him while he cried against you, and you cried too. You felt sick to leave him, and you felt awful to be hurting him, but you felt in the pit of your gut that this was the right thing to do. You didn’t want to turn into your mother: divorced, estranged from her only child, and bitter about what she could have been. And if you and Sonny were truly meant to be, then you’d find your way back to each other.

“Stay with me until you leave?” he asked, his breath hot against the bare skin of your neck, and you murmured your assent. He lifted his head to look at you, and you felt that sick feeling again. You could get lost in his eyes. It’d be so easy to change your mind and stay with him.

He closed the gap between you in a flash, capturing your mouth with his. You froze a second in surprise but then leaned into the kiss, relishing the feel of his soft lips against yours. It was better than you had ever imagined, in all the years you had pictured kissing him.

He kissed you until you were both breathless, and then he carried you into his room, lying you down and stretching out alongside you gently, mindful of your recent trauma. 

With a few exceptions – him going to work, you tying up loose ends – you spent the rest of your week with him, in his bed and in his arms. After one particularly vigorous evening together that left you both panting and exhausted, you curled up against his bare chest with a heavy sigh.

“You’re just trying to convince me to stay,” you accused him, half-playfully but half serious. It would be so easy to just stay with him.

He huffed out a breath in mock offense, but then he reached down and grasped your jaw lightly in his hand until you were gazing up into his blue eyes.

“No,” he murmured, his voice full of feeling. “I’m trying to remind you of what’ll be waiting for you.”


	10. Chapter 10

You were late. Again.

To be fair, though, it wasn’t your fault this time. When your plane landed at LaGuardia, it ended up taxiing for forty minutes until it found an available gate, and then you had to sprint to baggage claim. And _then _you had to find a taxi, and when you did, traffic was so bad that the driver shot into New Jersey and took I-95 to get to Staten Island. 

It didn’t matter, as long as you got there eventually. Sometimes you had to take the long way round.

* * *

It was a subdued Thanksgiving, which suited Sonny just fine. Theresa’s daughters, since the divorce, had to split their holidays between their parents, so they were with their father. Theresa herself had opted to stay in Connecticut and host her own wine-based, solo Thanksgiving for herself. Gina and her latest boyfriend had stopped in for a quick dinner but had left to go to his family’s house on the other end of the island. Bella and her baby – a little girl named Moira – were taking a nap upstairs in her childhood bedroom, exhausted by the baby’s awful sleep schedule. That left Sonny parents and Tommy in the living room, watching the football game and dozing off from their respective turkey comas.

Sonny was so exhausted that he was having trouble sleeping. It had been an awful year. He had an undercover assignment with a men’s shelter that left his shaken to his core about the thin possibility of redemption for lost souls.

His sergeant had also been gunned down and killed. They never replaced him, though, so SVU was running perpetually short-handed. He rarely had time off, he never had time to recover from one case to the next, and his commanding officer seemed pretty cavalier about the mental wellness of her detectives.

If he ever needed his best friend, it was now, but he respected your choice to move to L.A.

He kept in touch with you, of course. He called and texted, and the two of you had a few video chat sessions. You showed him your cramped little apartment a few blocks from the ocean, and once you had a chat from London, where you were working on a limited episode run for a streaming service. 

He loved seeing you, but it left him heart-sore. Seeing you on the screen of his laptop could not compare to the genuine article.

He held back a lot of his work struggles. He didn’t tell you how lonely he was, how much he missed his friend. He didn’t want to make you regret your choice. All the same, you seemed to sense when he was at his lowest, because a new playlist always seemed to appear for him to bolster his flagging spirits.

The best playlists, though, were the ones he was able to buy after you started your stint on the west coast. You got work – first with the limited run series, then with a bare-bones action film, then with a larger film. You scored a documentary, and the haunting piano and string-based score was nominated at some film festivals. Sonny bought every soundtrack and score that had your name on it. 

He set up a news alert for your name and got some traffic. The best was a profile about new up-and-comers. It was a group shot of everyone in the piece, but he was able to crop everyone else out on his computer. You looked amazing in it: hair down and styled, in a chic tuxedo tailored to your form, with a slight smile on your face.

Still, he missed you. And on days like Thanksgiving, he felt your absence more keenly.

He sat with his parents and Tommy for a bit, half-heartedly watching the Lions play. He wondered what you were doing. Probably hanging out with your new friends, eating the authentic Mexican food you were always raving about.

He stood up abruptly and made his way down to the rec room in the basement. Most holidays – and summers when you were in college – that’s where you and Sonny ended up. It was your movie hub: just the two of you curled up on the couch together, under his nonna’s scratchy acrylic crocheted blanket (because he cranked the air to an uncomfortable degree on purpose), watching a movie and ignoring the tension between the two of you. Well, he knew it was tension now. At the time, he had just thought it was him.

He sprawled out across the old couch and turned on the TV, flipping through the channels until he found something. “Planes, Trains, and Automobiles.” Sonny smiled. It was one of your favorite movies, and he settled down and watched it. If his mind wandered, it wandered back to your final week in the city. Those few final days you had spent together, mostly in his bed (and in his shower and on his couch and once on his kitchen counter). He replayed those moments over and over, but the details had grown hazy over time. All he could vividly remember was the feeling of completion and contentment when you had fallen asleep beside him.

The movie was about halfway done when he heard people talking upstairs – laughter and little shrieks of joy. He guessed that Moira was awake and his mother was cooing over her. Or maybe Tommy and his dad were really getting into the Lions game.

He heard the basement door open and someone take a few tentative steps down the creaky stairs. It must be time for dessert and coffee, but Sonny wasn’t hungry.

“I’ll be up in a bit, ma,” he called over the back of the couch, focused on the screen in front of him. 

“I’m not your ma, stretch,” a familiar voice replied in a teasing lilt, and he shot up into a sitting position just in time to see you descend the rest of the steps.

* * *

Your first thought was that you broke him. He stared at you over the back of the couch so long without saying anything, you worried that he had died in place. 

Your second thought, as you looked him over was, _Christ, he looks exhausted_.

Sonny was as handsome as ever. His hair was a little greyer, but it made him hotter, in your opinion. It was soft and tousled, unstyled – your favorite version of his hair. His eyes were as blue as the ocean.

But he looked pale, and he had dark circles under his eyes, and the lines around his eyes were deeper than the last time you saw him. You knew that his job wasn’t easy, and you knew from Bella that it had been more difficult than usual. You worried that you hadn’t made things easier on him either.

He continued to stare at you, and your eyes flicked to the TV. It was one of your favorite holiday movies, and you made a little cry of delight. You walked around to the couch and made to sit down to watch, but Sonny shot to his feet and pulled you into a fierce hug. He wrapped his long arms around you and squeezed you so hard you thought your ribs would break again. 

“You’re really here,” he muttered into your hair.

“I am,” you replied. Your face was pressed against his chest, and you breathed him in. He wore a cologne that always made you think of growing things – a sort of fresh, green smell that combined with his soap and his own body chemistry. “I would have been here sooner, but traffic was a nightmare.”

He squeezed you to him for another moment, then pushed you away, his hands firmly placed on your upper arms. “No one told me,” he said, looking you over. “_You _didn’t tell me.”

“I wanted to surprise you.” You suddenly felt shy underneath the scrutiny of his gaze, and you ducked your head.

He moved both of his hands to either side of your face. “It’s the best surprise ever,” he declared, and he leaned down to place a gentle kiss on your lips. You sighed and kissed him back. You had missed him so much.

He tilted your head, deepening the kiss. You felt him part his lips and run the tip of his tongue along your lower lip, but before you could open your mouth to him, the basement door swung open again. A voice – Bella’s – yelled down that coffee and dessert were being served.

“And stop making out, you perverts,” she added for good measure, and you ignored her cackling laughter with all the dignity you could muster. 

* * *

Sonny sat across from you at the dining room table as everyone gathered for pumpkin pie and coffee. You immediately scooped baby Moira from Bella’s arms, claiming that you had to make up for lost time. The baby grabbed at your hair and tried to shove her chubby fist in your mouth. She was completely enamored with you. 

Baby Moira wasn’t the only one. Sonny felt like he would never be able to look at you enough. Your hair was just a shade messy – he knew it was from your cross-country flight, but it looked exactly like your usual post-sex hair, and it made him feel more turned on than he would usually like while sitting with his family at the dining room table. 

You were in relaxed jeans and a button-down flannel shirt, partially unbuttoned and revealing a lace-trimmed camisole underneath. You looked completely comfortable, and maybe for the first time since Sonny met you – completely comfortable with yourself. You had a relaxed air about you. Maybe it was all the sunshine. More likely, it was all those tamales that you raved about.

Bella dished out pie while Dom Senior poured mugs of coffee and passed them around. Sonny’s mother went to the kitchen and came back a few minutes later bearing a plate of reheated leftovers. She placed it in front of you with a smile.

“I’m sorry I was late,” you said with a rueful shrug. “Our plane didn’t have a gate and it took forever to get here.”

His mother waved off your apology. “We’re just glad you’re here.”

You tucked into your leftovers one handed, your other arm cradling the baby as she dozed off against you. It made Sonny smile to see it. You were always such a natural with his nieces – even this one who had just met you.

“How long are you staying?” Dom Senior asked. 

You chewed a forkful of stuffing and swallowed before you answered. “I fly back on Sunday morning.” Sonny felt his stomach drop. You were only here for a few days, and it already felt like time was slipping away too quickly.

You glanced over at him and caught his gaze before you continued. “I have a few more months on my sublet here in New York, but after that, I’m going to move back.” You gave him a smile. “I’ve made great connections, and I’ll probably have to travel back to L.A. more than I’d like, but plenty of composers and musicians live elsewhere.”

Bella scoffed and gestured to the window where an icy rain was pattering against the glass. “You’re trading in warm weather and sunshine for this?”

“Aren’t you the one who gave me a list of reasons why L.A. was worse than New York?” you teased back.

“I just liked living vicariously through you,” she shot back. “How many friends run into one of the Marvel Chrises on the way to the bathroom?”

You nodded and took another bite of stuffing. “True. But I can’t keep up with the people out there. Too many diets and workouts. Everyone assumes I’m a wannabe actress and critiques me accordingly.” You scowled at your plate. “One producer told me that I was a ‘New York five but an L.A. two,’ and that was _after _he realized I was there to score his garbage movie.”

Sonny felt a flare of hot anger to hear that some guy made you feel bad about yourself. “You’re a Staten Island eleven,” he blurted, making the table erupt in laughter. He felt his face growing red, and his dad reached over and clapped him hard on the back.

“Smooth, son,” he chuckled, but Sonny’s mom reached over from the other side and smacked her husband. 

“Like you ever did any better,” she teased. Dom Senior snatched her hand as she tried to draw it back and kissed the back of it.

“I did good enough to get you,” he said with a wide grin, making Bella groan in embarrassment. Sonny, though, could only watch you across the table.

* * *

Sonny’s family was old-fashioned, despite having a grandchild out of wedlock and a daughter who had recently divorced. As such, you and Sonny put up what you hoped was a convincing charade about how he was going to drive you to a friend’s place where you were crashing for the next few days. 

The reality, of course, was that within seconds of returning to his apartment, he had you pressed against his door, the two of you kissing fiercely and pawing at each other like you were each drowning. There were too many sensations and emotions: the feel of his warm hands as they untucked your shirt and camisole to touch your back. His mouth on yours, his lips impossibly soft. His thigh, as it pressed between your own legs and parted them.

You reached down and tugged at his grey Henley, breaking the kiss long enough to pull it over his head, ruffling his hair even more. You tossed it aside and then his mouth was back on you, kissing the sensitive spot at the junction of your neck and shoulder, sending chills through you.

“I missed you so much, doll,” he whispered against your neck. His breath was hot and sent another tremor through you.

You ran your fingers through his hair. “I missed you more,” you breathed back.

Sonny fumbled at your shirts. His fingers scrabbled at your button-up, and he mumbled curses when he couldn’t get it undone fast enough. When he did get it unbuttoned, he tried to pull it off of you, but your sleeves got caught and he cursed again as he unbuttoned the cuffs. 

You pushed him off of you so that you could handle it, so he shifted his attention to his own clothes. He tugged his undershirt over his head, but slowed and then stopped completely to watch you as you removed your camisole.

You bent over and pulled your boots off, then straightened up to unbutton your jeans. You looked up at Sonny and laughed at him. His chest was rising and falling with his shuddering breaths, and his mouth hung slightly agape.

He moved swiftly to you. He pressed you back against the door, latching his mouth on the pulse point. You laid your hands on his bare chest and tugged on his sparse smattering of blond hair there.

Sonny’s hands drifted down to your hips and finished unzipping your jeans. He unlatched his mouth from your neck and worked his way down, pushing your pants down over your hips, down you thighs. His ran his warm palms over your bare legs before he pulled your jeans over your feet and tossed them aside.

He knelt in front of you, and you laid your hands on the top of his head. You tangled your fingers in his hair, tugging it gently, trying to get him to stand back up. He looked up at you, in just your underwear, while he was still half-clothed.

“You need to catch up, Dominick,” you said. You loved the way his sunny blue eyes turned dark when you called him by his first name. 

Instead of responding to you, he slid an arm behind you, cupping your ass in his large hand and pulled your lower half towards him until his face was pressed into your lower belly. You ran your nails over his scalp, drawing low groans from him that vibrated through you. His hot breath made the throbbing between your legs increase almost painfully. You felt dangerously close to losing your legs underneath you.

“S-Sonny,” you stuttered as he moved his mouth a fraction lower. “I need you.”

“You have me,” he murmured against you. He licked along the lace waistband of your panties, making your knees buckle just a bit. 

You tightened your grip on his hair, drawing another groan from him. You felt almost dizzy with desire and had to press the back of your head against the door and take a few deep breaths to calm yourself.

“Sonny, we have plenty of time,” you told him in a strangled voice. “But right now, I really need you.”

His other hand landed on your hip, tugging at the edge of your panties and pressing wet kisses on each new inch of exposed skin. He didn’t reply, too focused on moving his mouth closer and closer to his target.

“Damnit, Dominick!” you yelled, and you pulled his hair hard enough to get his attention. He looked up and shot you a wounded look, like a puppy that had been scolded, but whatever he saw on your face made him stand up and press the length of his body against yours. You pulled his face to yours and kissed him breathlessly, without any art or ability. Just his mouth with his soft lips against yours, tongues sliding against each other, breathing each other’s moans.

“I need you,” you repeated, panting against him. He shifted his head back to the nook against your neck. “Please. I…I’ve waited for this for months. I’ve missed you, Sonny. So, so much.” You wrapped your hand along the back of his neck, stroking between his hairline and the knobs of the top of his spine. You felt rather than heard Sonny sniffling against you, and you felt the first tears when they hit your shoulder.

“I missed you too, doll,” he said. “And it’s been a tough year.” His voice was watery, and you tightened your grip around him, pulling him as tight as you could. He took deep breaths against you as he tried to regain his composure, and once he was calmed, you took his face between both of your hands. You forced him to face you, and you looked into his brilliant blue eyes, now rimmed and swollen from his tears.

“I love you, Dominick,” you said solemnly. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you.”

He shook his head gently between your hands. “I’m glad you went, doll.” His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled at you. “I’d never want to hold you back.”

You couldn’t help but smile back at him – his namesake sunniness was contagious. “I’m here now though.”

“You are.” He reached down to grasp the back of your thighs, and you jumped up into his arms. You bit back a moan at the sensation of him pressed against your core, and you wrapped your arms around his neck as he carried you into his bedroom and laid you down on the bed.

He stood at the foot of the bed and removed the rest of his clothes, and you wriggled out of your underwear so that when he crawled over you, you were both completely naked. 

You could feel the conflict in him – you knew that Sonny was gentle and probably wanted to take his time, but you also could feel how badly he missed you. He settled on an uneven middle ground, pressing slow, wet kisses to you while his hands roved wildly over your form. 

His mouth drifted a lazy path from your mouth to your jaw and down your neck, across your collarbones and back to your mouth. His hands wandered down your sides and up your front to cup first one breast and then the other. He stroked your nipples until they were peaked and hard under his caresses. 

Spurred on by your moans and your squirming underneath him, his hand glided further down until it was pressed between your legs. He slid a finger between your folds and groaned at how wet you were. He pulled his head back to peer down at you, and your face felt red-hot.

“I _told _you I needed you,” you muttered at him, avoiding his gaze.

“I told you that you have me,” he replied thickly, and he pushed his finger into you slowly, making both of you moan. Your face grew hotter, which didn’t seem humanly possible, as he stared down at you through half-lidded eyes. He slid a second finger into you, then shifted his hand so that his thumb was circling your clit.

You huffed out a breath through your nose and tried to calm yourself, but you felt a liquid heat pooling deep in your belly, and you knew you weren’t going to last long. 

“Sonny, stop,” you whispered. You felt him hesitate and pull his hand away from you. You looked up and saw the question in his eyes.

“I want to…finish,” you stammered. “With you, you know. Inside me.”

He nodded and shifted his weight off of you to reach into his nightstand for a condom. You used the moment to try and steady yourself again, squeezing your eyes shut as you heard him rip the wrapper. Then you felt him stretch himself on top of you again, and you felt his hand cup your face, the thumb stroking your cheekbone.

“Y/F/N, look at me,” he said softly. You opened your eyes and looked up at him. He gazed down at you as if you were the only other person in the world.

All the years of frustrated longing, all the other people you’d each been with, every conversation and glance laden with unrequited love – it all fell away when he looked at you like that. You smiled at him and reached up to cup his own face in your palm, and he leaned into it, touch-starved. After a moment, you simply nodded at him, and he reached down to line himself up with your entrance.

He pressed the tip of his erection into you with a groan, and you felt dangerously close to the edge. He slid into you slowly – way too slowly. His position on top of you made the angle shallow, and his length dragged along your sensitive clit as he pressed himself into your molten core. 

You wanted to make it last, but every single sensation was too much: the friction on you bundle of nerves where the two of you were joined. His hot breath, panting praise in your ear. The scent of his cologne and your perfume mingling along with the headier scent of sex. 

He was only halfway inside you, but it was too late. You gasped his name once, and then shuddered underneath him with a whimper, your legs wrapping around him to pull the rest of him into you in one thrust. He started to reply to you, but he growled instead as your sheath gripped him, your orgasm ripping through you. You shut your eyes as you came, moaning his name over and over. You were distantly aware of him cursing above you, and he gave a single thrust until he came too.

He collapsed on top of you completely, and his weight pressed you into the mattress. He groaned again, in frustration this time. You stroked his hair at the back of his head until you both recovered. He lifted his head to looked down at you.

“I’m sorry,” you each said at the same time, and you both laughed. He leaned down and kissed you firmly before he shifted his weight and pulled out of you. He left the room for a moment to dispose of the condom, then he came back into the bedroom. He laid down beside you, and you each turned on your sides to face each other.

“I’m sorry I came too quickly,” you said with a rueful grin. “I was too worked up, I guess.”

He pinched your chin lightly between his fingers and kissed you again. “It’s all well and good for girls,” he grumbled good-naturedly. “But I didn’t last at all. Now all my street cred it gone.” You laughed at this, and he pretended to look angry.

“It’s your fault,” he continued. “You set me off.”

“Well, I owe you then,” you replied. You tried to look contrite. “Since your street cred is gone and all that.” You snuggled up against him, enjoying the feeling of his skin pressed against yours. He wrapped a lanky arm around you and pulled you tighter.

You felt comfortably drowsy, the net effect of your flight, Ma Carisi’s dinner, and being back in Sonny’s bed. He hummed above you contently, and you started to doze off until your cell phone chimed from the other room. You roused a bit but settled back against him.

Then it chimed again, and a third time.

“You need to get that?” Sonny asked. His voice rumbled through his chest. “Your west coast boyfriend, maybe?” You knew he was joking, but there was still a jealous undercurrent to his tone.

“There was no west coast boyfriend,” you murmured against him. “Unless you count my detachable shower head.”

He snorted at this but you could feel the relief in him as he relaxed against you. 

Then his phone chimed, one after another after another.

“Is that Nicole?” you asked, only half-meanly. He snorted again before he untangled from you and grabbed at his pants at the foot of the bed. 

“Be careful,” he said as he pulled his phone out of his pants pocket. “If you say her name three times, she’ll turn up and haunt your house.” You laughed at this and sat up. You wound his blanket around yourself. Sonny unlocked his phone.

“Is it work?” you asked. You felt your stomach dip. You wanted to stay in this little bubble with Sonny for the entire weekend. A little sex bubble, maybe with the occasional movie and homemade pasta break.

He just chuckled in reply. “No, it’s Bella.” He held up his phone so that you could read the screen. “She tried to text you and you didn’t reply. Now she’s of the impression that you’re here with me, corrupting her chaste, virginal brother with your wanton ways.” He typed out a reply, then turned off his phone and tossed it on the nightstand before lying back down. He grabbed you around the waist and pulled you down beside him.

“What did you tell her?” you asked.

“The truth,” he said. He kissed you chastely, then tilted his head to deepen the kiss. He broke away to look down at you, and his blue eyes were glittering with unshed tears again. “I told her that you’re home.”


End file.
